


By His Side

by librata



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Charles You Slut, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik You Slut, Erik is a Sweetheart, Family, Kittens, M/M, Married Life, Modern AU - Still Powered, Puppies, Wine, dadneto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 40,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librata/pseuds/librata
Summary: A collection of short fluffy drabbles for the Cherik #TheyDeserveBetter Inktober Challenge.Some of the chapters take place in the canon movieverse while others are AUs. They always have their mutations, regardless. I hope you enjoy. :)





	1. Our Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wants a dog. Erik does not. So, Charles compromises by forcing Erik to get a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 01: Puppies

“I’m telling you, Charles. Animals simply hate me.”

Erik frowned as he stood over the pen of puppies, watching as the tiny little things climbed atop each other to vie for Charles’ attention. One of Charles’ students had found a pregnant stray a few months prior, and somehow, the telepath had talked him into driving to his apartment to “look” at the litter now that they were old enough to be adopted. Erik knew that his husband was on Cloud 9, of course, laughing in delight as two small mutts wrestled each other on his lap. The other puppies in the litter were having an equally great time as they dashed under and around the wheelchair, nipping at Charles’ dangling shoelaces, pawing at his wheels, grappling their way up his trousers before tumbling back to the floor. 

“Do you expect them to come play with you while you’re standing like a statue, Erik?” Charles countered, glancing back momentarily with a cocked brow. “Come in here. Let them suss you out.”

“It’s not going to make a difference. I’ve never come across an animal who liked me. I give off an anti-animal aura.” 

_You’re giving off an anti-Charles aura, right now. Get in here_, Charles hissed at him telepathically. 

Huffing to himself, Erik reluctantly stepped over the low gate and into the pen, taking a seat on the floor opposite Charles. If it were up to him, they would not be getting a dog in the first place, but it had become quickly apparent that Charles would either divorce him or murder him if he disagreed, so. Here they were, in a college student’s apartment, surrounded by fur and noise.

As expected, only a few of the dozen or so puppies sauntered his way, sniffing at him momentarily before deciding that they were much more interested in the hems of Charles’ trousers than they were Erik. He glowered as the little creatures mobbed around each other and his husband, content to ignore him as if he weren’t there. 

“I told you,” he insisted, crossing his arms. “It’s always been this way. I believe it has something to do with my mutation. It makes animals hate me.”

“Your attitude might have something to do with it,” Charles huffed. “Animals are empathetic. They can feel your foul mood. Everyone can right now, from a mile away.”

“Then you pick one, Charles,” Erik snapped back, fed up. “It won’t make a difference. It’s your bloody dog anyway, isn’t it?”

Before Charles could reply, the college student whose apartment they were in, Armando, quickly emerged from the kitchen with a wriggling pup in his arms. “Sorry, there’s one more,” he said as he placed the puppy on the ground in the pen. “This little girl likes to escape. Don’t know how she does it, but I find her somewhere random at least twice a day. She was in my laundry basket just now.”

Erik studied the tiny dog. She was a bit smaller than her siblings and didn’t have the same brown ears and chest coloring that they did. No, she was all black, dark as the night, with light brown eyes shining like beacons. 

Erik stared into those beacons. They stared back, unblinking. 

And then Erik’s lap was suddenly overtaken by an energetic bullet of black fur, bounding into his lower stomach like a tiny cannon. Her front paws used his chest for leverage and her tail wagged with ferocity as she began to assault Erik’s face with her pink tongue, lapping at his chin, cheeks, nose. 

“Oh, Gott, what are you doing?” Erik demanded of the puppy, scrunching his face as he placed his hands under her body to pull her away. “Have you any manners?”

Erik heard Charles chuckle as he held the puppy up, her tongue waggling out of her mouth as her tail moved in overdrive. She wriggled and batted her paws through the air, like she was asking Erik to place her back on the floor. When Erik obliged and set her to the side of his legs, she clambered over his knees, took a few circles, and plopped herself down in the center of his lap.

“You spoke too soon, darling,” Charles said from the other side of the pen, beaming. “Look at how much she adores you.”

“Yeah,” agreed Armando, standing with his hands on his hips. “She’s been pretty shy around most people. Definitely hasn’t warmed up to anyone that quickly.”

Erik frowned down at the puppy as she nuzzled her head into his knee before tentatively running a hand over her back. Her fur was soft and silky, thick over her small frame. Small as she was, Erik noticed that her paws were large, hinting at a future growth spurt. “What sort of dog is she?” Erik asked after a moment.

“The mom is some kind of Shepherd Collie mix, we think. We have no idea what the dad is, though. Maybe a Lab, but we don’t know anything for sure,” Armando offered. 

Erik hummed and scratched his fingers along the dog’s stomach. Immediately, she turned over in his lap so that her four legs were vertical, tongue lolling happily out of her mouth. As Erik scratched along a section just beneath her ribcage, the dog’s back legs began to pump in the air, kicking something invisible.

Both Charles and Armando laughed. “You found her tickle spot,” Charles mused, a smile in his voice.

Erik stopped scratching then, and the puppy rolled back over on his lap, sitting upright now. She stared up at Erik once more and he stared back, studying her open-mouthed grin, feeling the thrum of her wagging tail against his legs. Her ears perked when he cleared his throat.

“What do you think, love?” Charles asked after a moment, an eager smirk on his face. “She seems to have decided that you’re adequate. Do you think she could be your dog?”

Erik pursed his lips. The dog closed her mouth, too, eyes wide. She tilted her head to one side and stopped wagging her tail, sitting perfectly still. As If she were waiting for his answer, too.

“I suppose this one’s alright,” he finally agreed, to which Charles replied with a grin. The dog began to thump her tail once more, springing up to launch another assault on Erik’s face with her tongue. “On one condition,” Erik grunted.

“What’s that?”

Erik smoothly stood to his feet with the puppy in his arms, crossing the space to Charles in a few long strides. Once there, he placed the puppy on Charles’ lap, unable to keep the smile from his lips as she began to cover Charles in kisses as well. 

“She’s our dog."


	2. Zehn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After ten years of marriage, Erik and Charles are greeted with the tiniest surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 02 - Kittens
> 
> I know that there's another anniversary prompt. I also know that this is far too long. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It was a rare event that Charles allowed Erik to push his wheelchair, but tonight, Charles couldn’t be bothered to protest. He’d just filled up on an absolutely mouthwatering five course meal, complete with maybe one glass of wine too many and dessert. Over-indulgence, certainly, but it wasn’t every day that Charles and Erik got to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. 

“Why don’t you use your powers to push me?” Charles asked as he leaned back in his chair, Erik’s blazer draped over his shoulders as the cool evening breeze tickled his face. “You beg me to let you do that every day.”

“I don’t beg,” replied Erik haughtily. “And I would, but I’m so full that I feel like I’m about to fall over and I need your chair for balance.”

Charles chuckled, and then sighed in contentment, wishing that he could live in this moment of bliss forever. Lately, he and Erik had been incredibly busy and seldom got to eat dinner together, let alone out at a restaurant. Charles was in the midst of a massive research project at the university. Most nights, he stayed at the lab until near midnight before his back screamed at him to get home. Erik’s engineering firm had won a gargantuan contract with a tech company in Europe, so he was away for at least a week each month. On the scarce occasion that they had one or two uninterrupted days together, they often spent it running errands, tending to their home, attending appointments.

Their fast-paced lives were wonderful, and they wouldn’t always be this busy, but Charles missed his husband. They might get a few sleepy kisses in when Charles finally crawled into bed or when Erik rose at the crack of dawn for his morning run and early start, but that was often the most contact they’d get for days at a time. It made Charles grumpy, and it made Erik worry about Charles’ health. 

“Stop, for a moment,” Charles said as they passed a bench on the sidewalk. They’d dined at a lovely ocean-front restaurant atop a cliff and opted to take a stroll along the promenade before heading home. Right here, though, there was a lovely view of the darkened sea, grey in color under the inky sky. The waves crashed against the rocks below, providing a relaxing soundtrack to their lovely evening.

Erik obliged and parked Charles’ chair beside the bench and took his own seat. As if by reflex, Charles reached over his armrest and snared Erik’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I have our wedding photo on my desk at the university, you know,” Charles mused after a moment. “Everyone comments on how young you and I look in it.”

“That’s because you look like more like my awkward prom date than my spouse.”

“I do not look like your prom date. I was 25.”

“A 25-year-old who looked 17. And now you’re a 35-year-old who dresses like an 85-year-old.”

“So full of the compliments tonight, darling,” Charles said, reaching up to tousle Erik’s hair. “You’ve always had such a way with words.”

“You didn’t marry me for my pillow talk. You married me because I’m handsome,” Erik countered as he swatted Charles’ hand away, kissing his knuckles before he let it go. “Just as I married you for your money.”

“A romance that would make Shakespeare jealous,” Charles agreed as he pulled Erik’s blazer tighter around his shoulders against the breeze. They sat in easy silence for a few more minutes, content to just sit together and watch the ebb and flow of the tide and be. Overhead, an airplane travelled across the sky, and Charles watched it span the panorama above. “What time do you leave for Amsterdam tomorrow, again?” Charles asked after a moment.

“One,” said Erik. “I’ll leave for the airport at 10:30.”

Charles sighed. Another week of coming home to an empty house, waking up in an empty bed, sitting in a noiseless house lie ahead. When Erik was gone, Raven came over a few days each week to help him out with various things and take him to his physical therapy, but it still felt lonely. Charles preferred company. Even if Erik was asleep as Charles climbed into bed and gone by the time he woke up, the closeness was important. “How much longer until you’re finished with this bloody contract?”

“How much longer until you’re finished with your research?” Erik countered, raising his chin just a little. 

“My research doesn’t take me out of the country for weeks at a time.”

“Not yet. Wait until you go on another speaking tour after you publish it. I won’t see you for months.”

“So, hardly any different than it is now,” Charles said, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t want to argue, not on their anniversary and the first date they’d been on in a long time, but they always circled back to this. Trying to find a way to continue doing their work while making more time for each other. Failing each time they tried. Erik’s contract wouldn’t be finished for at least six more months, and Charles had no idea how much longer he would be working his hours, either.

“You don’t have to work until midnight each night. How much sleep have you been getting? Four hours? Five? I’m sure your doctor would be pleased to hear that,” said Erik gruffly, posture closing off ever so much. “And I can only imagine how well your nutrition is going.”

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. This conversation was one that he and Erik had far too often and it was one he wanted to avoid tonight. “I’m just fine, Erik,” he said, struggling to keep his tone from sharpening to a point. I do my physio, I take my medication. Can we please stop talking about this before it becomes a fight?”

Erik opened his mouth to reply, and Charles was poised for the defensive, when distinctive, high-pitched noise interrupted their conversation. Charles met Erik’s eyes, silently confirming that they’d both heard the same noise with their expressions.

“Was that a cat?” Charles asked.

_ “Meowww….meeooowwww….” _

"I think it’s coming from that bush.” The promenade where Charles and Erik sat snaked along a bluff above the sea, with a row of bushes and shrubs lining the footpath. In the general area of a large, leafy bush, Charles could hear a now constant stream of a tiny, distressed meow. Frowning, Charles wheeled down the path a few feet before stopping in front of the bush, leaning down as far a he could. The mewing continued all the while. 

A raised curb prevented Charles from navigating his chair any closer to the bush, and there was only so far he could bend down while sitting like this. “Can you check under there?” Charles asked Erik, who had joined him at his side. “It sounds like a baby.”

Erik looked like he’d rather eat his own hands than crouch down in the dirt to look for a cat. “What do you plan to do with it if it’s under there?”

Charles crossed his arms. “Would you rather let it die?”

“Circle of life, Charles.”

Charles scowled up at his husband before leaning back down to set the brakes on his chair. 

“What are you doing?” Erik demanded.

“If you’re not going to save it, I will,” Charles said stubbornly.

“You’re not going to crawl across the ground to look for a cat.”

“Try me.”

Erik huffed in exasperation, but stepped over the curb and into the dirt, crouching down beside the bush. The high-pitched meowing never stopped—it seemed to grow faster and louder, as if it knew that someone was looking for it. “I can’t find it,” said Erik after a minute, frowning. 

“Check lower, it’s probably on the ground,” Charles urged.

Erik gave Charles a long-suffering expression, and then laid on his stomach and scooted closer to the bush. It took a few minutes of reaching, but finally, Charles saw Erik’s eyes widen slightly before his long arms pulled a kitten out from underneath the leaves and branches. 

It was tiny. Hardly larger than the size of a tennis ball in Erik’s large hand. Unobscured, its cries were louder, more distressed, and even from where he sat, Charles could see the tiny thing shaking in Erik’s hand. 

“Oh, Erik…”

Two hours later, Charles was wedged into Erik’s side on the living room sofa, head resting on his husband’s shoulder as the kitten slept on Erik’s lap. The emergency vet had said that the kitten was a little less than a month old and had likely been abandoned by his mother. He was cold and underweight but in decent health otherwise. So, equipped with formula, bottles, and instructions on how to wean a newborn kitten, Erik and Charles took the minuscule animal home. 

“Can’t you take paternity leave?” Charles said quietly, gently stroking the kitten with his pointer finger. “We have a new baby, after all.”

“Someone’s got to provide for the family,” Erik replied with humor in his voice before dropping a kiss to the top of Charles’ head. “Are you really going to take care of him while I’m away?”

“I’ll come home to feed him during the day. Raven can check on him, too,” Charles said. “We’ll keep each other company, he and I.”

Another silence fell, a comfortable one once more. Charles shut his eyes to better savor the moment, drinking in the feeling of Erik’s arm around his body, reveling in the closeness. “Let’s call him _Zehn_,” Erik said finally. 

Charles cocked a brow. “You want to name our cat after a number?”

Erik’s arm tightened around his side. “It’s our tenth anniversary. It’s memorable”

A smile stretched across Charles’ lips. “Alright. Zehn, then. Maybe in another decade, we can add a _Zwanzig_ to the family.”

“And then a _Dreißig_.”

“So you plan on keeping me around that long?” Charles said, tilting his head up to catch a glimpse of Erik’s gorgeous face.

Erik glanced downward, and then closed the gap between their lips. “Just as I said ten years ago…I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zehn - Ten  
Zwanzig - Twenty  
Dreißig - Thirty


	3. An Occasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - sunset

Unabashed about the rudeness of the action, Erik grabbed hold of the metal bolts and threw open the double doors to Charles’ office. The wooden slabs swung violently in their hinges, slamming into the walls on either side. Charles gasped where he sat in his chair behind his desk, dropping the pen he’d been using to scribble down notes. 

“For God’s sake, Erik,” the telepath breathed as Erik strode into the office with confidence. “Have you forgotten how to bloody knock?”

“You always said that it was near impossible to sneak up on a telepath,” Erik replied as he stopped in front of Charles’ desk, peered down at its surface, and then promptly shut the book that Charles had been buried in. 

Charles stared at the closed volume in disbelief for a few moments before tilting his head back to assess Erik, brows knitting together. “I expect you’ve set yourself on a mission to do whatever you can to annoy me. You’re doing very well, I assure you.”

“There’s collateral damage in every mission,” Erik said, placing his palm on the book to hold it shut when Charles made to open it back up. “Come on. You’ve been holed up in this office for days. We’re going outside.”

Charles grimaced, his oceanic eyes narrowing. “I’m busy, Erik.”

“And I’m serious, Charles,” Erik said as he raised his hand, grabbed hold of Charles’ chair with his abilities, and pushed him back from the desk. 

After a healthy five minutes of arguing and a few choice words, Erik strode beside Charles as he wheeled along the garden path, grumbling. He’d promised Erik that he’d go outside for twenty minutes at the most, but only after Erik had his chair suspended in mid-air with no intention of surrender. It wasn’t Erik’s preferred method of suggestion, but it was certainly effective, and that’s what mattered most.

Pink and orange streaked across the sky as the sun began its descent in the west, coloring the atmosphere with a dreamy glow. “Isn’t the fresh air nice?” Erik asked.

“Seventeen minutes left,” Charles replied.

Erik wasn’t typically in the business of forcing people to do things against their will (unless they deserved it), but Charles hadn’t been seen outside of his office in several days now for any reason other than his teaching obligations. Every morning this week, Erik had woken up to an empty bed and found Charles either fast asleep at his desk or still awake from the night before, nose stuck in whatever book he was reading. When Charles got into kicks like these, it was nearly impossible to pull him out. Nearly.

“Let’s go around the back,” Erik suggested when they reached the fork in the path. Typically, they would traverse the path around the front garden, as it was flatter and quicker to navigate. The path that toured the back garden snaked over the rolling hills, through the edge of the forest, around the lake. It was far more scenic and secluded, but also quite a bit more difficult for Charles to navigate in his chair.

As Erik expected, however, Charles stubbornly obliged, probably intent to show Erik that he could and would play and win whatever game Erik was peddling. He knew that Charles wouldn’t admit to any sort of weakness at the moment, not while still fuming, and that suited Erik just fine. Most people regarded Charles a genius, and he was in his own right, but there was a certain formula that Erik knew that would wind Charles up in just the right ways. 

No help was offered as they began to ascend the sloping hill up toward the forest’s perimeter. Charles wouldn’t accept it if he did, and the telepath could make it up. He’d done it many times before in equally stubborn escapades as this. Only a small bit of struggle was detected, too, Charles’ strong arms working hard to propel himself up. At times like these, Erik liked to stop and admire Charles’ strength, the rippling muscle in his back underneath the tight sweater, the elegant dip of his neck. 

“Staring is rude, Erik,” Charles chastised, although there was a hint of a smile in his voice. 

Hold on here, just one moment,” said Erik as they reached the top of the crest before quickly darting off into the forest. Moments later, he emerged with a bottle of Malbec, two wine glasses, and a triumphant smirk. “Surprise.”

Charles looked well and truly surprised, which, for a telepath, was rare. “Oh,” he said. “A surprise indeed. What’s the occasion?” he asked as he stretched his arm out for a glass once Erik had them filled. 

“Need we an occasion?” Slowly, Erik lowered himself onto Charles’ lap and took a sip of wine, careful to balance his weight evenly. They couldn’t sit like this for long, Erik knew, but for now, it would be more than perfect. 

Charles’ ill temper melted before Erik’s eyes, the telepath grinning behind his slug of the deep purple liquid. “I’d like an occasion.”

Erik sloped forward to drop a soft kiss to Charles’ rosebud lips. “Alright,” he whispered against the other’s wine-flavored breath. “Here’s to a nice sunset,” he toasted, holding his glass between them.

Charles’ glass met his own with a soft clink. “A nice sunset.”

Long after the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, Charles returned to his office to finish his reading for the night while Erik retired to the library. Had any of the mansion’s other inhabitants convened with each other, they may have realized that both The Professor and his husband had leaves in their hair and ruby-stained lips.


	4. Decent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: beach

**New Message From:** Erik ❤️

_[Image attached: Three-year-old Lorna standing in her bedroom, wearing a green bathing suit, goggles over her eyes, and floaties on each arm.]_

Beach day is sorted.

**New Message From:** Schatz

Oh, look at her.

**New Message From:** Schatz

I only hope you have an outfit to match, darling.

**New Message From:** Erik ❤️

I refuse to engage in a game of “who wore it best?” with my own child. 

**New Message From:** Schatz

You’d certainly give her a run for her money.

**New Message From**: Erik ❤️

I know. I could rest on my laurels in my jail cell after being arrested for public indecency.

**New Message From:** Schatz

Since when do you care about being decent?

**New Message From:** Erik ❤️

You’re right.

**New Message** From: Erik ❤️

_[Image attached: Erik standing in front of their bathroom mirror in extremely short, skin tight swim trunks, an obvious bulge straining the fabric.]_

Beach day is sorted.

**New Message From:** Schatz

[….]

**New Message From:** Schatz

For God’s sake, Erik. I’m with students.

**New Message From:** Erik ❤️

Since when do I care about being decent?

**New Message From:** Schatz

You’re the absolute worst.

**New Message From:** Erik ❤️

You love me.

**New Message From:** Schatz

With all my heart.


	5. Detours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - road trip

“Papa! Wanda’s gonna––“

Before Pietro could finish his sentence, a pained and powerful retch filled the car, followed quickly by the horrific realization that Wanda had been sick in the backseat.

“Eeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwww!” Pietro shrieked as he began to bounce in his seat at a superhuman rate, while Charles, who had been dozing lightly, jolted upright.

“For the love of––“ Erik swore, knuckles white on the steering wheel of his Subaru. “I thought I told you to tell me if you were going to be sick.”

“It sneaked up on me, Papa,” the five-year-old girl cried, eyes red, cheeks green. “The car makes my tummy hurt!”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Charles assured her quickly, shooting his husband a dangerous look. “We’ll pull over as soon as we can.”

By some stroke of luck, there was a small gas station and convenience store just a minute’s drive away, and Erik was able to stop in a parking space and throw Wanda’s door open just as she leaned her head out to vomit again.

When everyone was sure that Wanda was properly finished, Erik stalked around the car and poked his head in the backseat, dismayed to find it an absolute mess. Wanda was crying, her head in her hands, while Pietro had already bounded out of the car to stretch his impossibly fast legs. 

_I’ll take her inside to change her clothes and get something to settle her stomach_, came Charles’ voice in his head, tone matching the assured look on his face as he sat in the passenger seat. _You clean up and make sure our son doesn’t run into the street._

_Fine_.

With practiced ease, Erik opened the hatchback of the car with a flick of a single finger and extracted Charles’ wheelchair from the trunk. He’d folded it up into compact cube to save space, but had it all straightened out and expanded by the time it arrived at the passenger door. Once settled, Charles snatched Wanda’s red duffle bag from the trunk, waited for the young girl to climb aboard his lap, and set off toward the entrance of the small convenience store.

Erik grumbled to himself as he set to cleaning the back seat. The entire road trip from their home in New York to the Grand Canyon had been a bit of a disaster since they’d departed yesterday morning. An hour and a half from home, they’d gotten a flat tire. Two hours later, an accident on the highway forced them to take a lengthy detour. And when they'd finally arrived at their hotel for the night, Charles had realized that he’d forgotten a vital bottle of medication. That set them off on another long search for a 24-hour pharmacy, where Charles had to begrudgingly use his telepathy to obtain what he needed without a prescription. By the time they finally all returned to their hotel room, it was well after midnight, the kids were tired and cranky, and Erik had found himself wishing that they’d just stayed home.

It wasn’t too late to turn back. If they left now and didn’t stop, they could be back home by midnight. Erik had been concerned about the trip anyway—long car rides were hell on Charles’ back, and the kids…well, they were five-year-old mutants. Sitting in a booster seat for hours upon hours was not conducive to their natural inclinations to move. Two weeks of this might truly end them all.

“Papa!”

Erik took a deep breath, doing his damndest to push his irritation away as Pietro tugged at his shirt. He was still crouched awkwardly into the backseat, giving the leather seats a final wipe down.

“Papa!”

“Pietro,” Erik breathed one exasperation as he ducked out of the car and regarded his son. “Do you remember what Daddy taught you about patience?” 

The little boy grimaced. “I don’t like pay-shence.”

“I’m aware. What is it?”

Immediately, the grimace was replaced by an excited grin. “When Wanda’s tummy is better, can we play the Story Game again?”

Erik cocked a brow. Yesterday, while stuck in traffic, Charles cooked a game that involved making up a story using various letters of the alphabet and billboards they passed for inspiration, or something of that nature. It had been a spur of the moment invention, designed to keep the kids occupied while their movie players charged, but it seemed that Pietro was truly happy to talk about it. “I’m sure Daddy will play the Story Game with you two.”

Pietro grabbed at Erik’s wrist with his two tiny hands and began to jump, energetic as always. “You gotta play, too, Papa! It’s the funnest game in the whole wide world!”

“It is?”

Erik was surprised to hear that. Pietro, a boy not well-known for a lengthy attention span, was entertained by a silly game Charles had made up on the fly.

“Yeah!” Pietro insisted, dancing in a circle around Erik. “‘Cause Daddy’s stories are silly, and Wanda’s stories are magical, and my stories are the bestest!”

Erik couldn’t help but smirk at that, watching as his son sprang happily about in the parking lot of the dingy gas station. They were well and truly in the middle of nowhere, far behind schedule after their series of setbacks, but what the hell did Pietro care? This was all probably an adventure for the boy, every mile along the road a brand new world for his expanding mind. The kids could play their goofy game all they wanted, ogle out the windows, build important and happy memories that they’ll look back on with fondness.

This was what it was all about, Erik realized. Flat tires and detours and midnight pharmacy runs and carsickness. Long days of driving, made up games, restless legs, sore backs. Nothing would ever be perfect or work out the way they planned, but that’s what made it all memorable. That’s what made it all important.

Wanda came running from the store then in a fresh pair of clothes with Charles wheeling close behind. “I got some ginger ale and motion sickness medication,” Charles said as the kids raced each other to their seats. “She should be good for another eight hours.”

Erik leaned over then and pressed his lips to Charles’ own, energy for their family vacation entirely renewed. Charles was clearly surprised by the kiss but didn’t protest, brows raised in question when Erik finally pulled away.

“A consolation kiss,” Erik said, lifting Wanda’s duffle bag from Charles’ lap so that he could stash it away in the trunk. “Because I’m about to kick your ass at the Story Game.”

Charles beamed. “We have 1700 more miles to go, darling. It’s on."


	6. German Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 - kiss

The first thing that Charles registered when he awoke on that Sunday morning was how cold he was. The blankets around him felt icy after spending the night in the drafty bedroom, and they did nothing to warm him as he groaned himself awake.

Instinctively, Charles stretched his arm to the other side of the bed, ready to bother his husband until strong arms were wrapped around him to heat him back up. Instead of a warm body, Charles found a cold, empty bed. 

Erik wasn’t there. Upon cracking his eyes open and waiting for them to blink into focus, Charles found that Erik’s pillow had a white card perched atop it, as well as a tiny silver…thing.

In Erik’s narrow hand, the card read: 

_Schatz,_

_Couldn’t fall back asleep. I’ll be back in time for breakfast. Here’s your good morning kiss._

_\- E.L._

Squinting, Charles realized that the silver mystery object was, in fact, a Hershey’s Kiss. A small piece of chocolate wrapped in silver foil. Had Charles not been so cold and stiff, he might have found it amusing.

When Erik strode into the large dining room an hour later, he immediately noticed that two things were missing. The first was Charles, not in his usual place at the head of the table. The second was the place setting at his own seat, which was always at Charles’ right hand. Instead of a plate, a mug, and silverware, there was a folded slip of paper and small silver item. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Erik demanded of Raven, who sat across from Erik. “Where’s Charles?”

Raven shrugged. 

When Erik unfolded the slip of paper, Charles’ elegant script read:

_Darling,_

_Come upstairs. Your breakfast is getting cold. Here’s your good morning kiss._

_\- C.X._

_P.S., Hershey’s are fine, but I prefer German chocolate._

Smirking, Erik plucked the unwrapped Kiss from the table and made a beeline for the exit, dropping the candy in Pietro’s lap along the way. 

“A Kiss?” the boy called after Erik.

“Good morning,” Erik replied, before absconding up the stairs, where he remained until he reappeared with Charles, just after lunch.


	7. The Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - cuddle

“Erik,” Charles called as he wheeled into the den. “Have you seen my–oh.”

Charles stopped in his tracks and studied the sight before him. Curled together on the sofa were Peter and Erik, fast asleep. The teenager’s head rested on Erik's thighs, silver hair splayed out in all directions. Erik was positioned further up the couch with his long legs stretched out behind Peter, mouth slightly ajar. A strong arm was draped across Peter’s chest, protective.

The relationship between the father and son was certainly an odd one—Charles knew that Erik did not feel entirely comfortable assuming a fatherly role in Peter’s life so late in the boy’s childhood, and Peter was still exploring those boundaries of his own. Charles had been urging Erik to spend more time with him, find things they both enjoyed doing, but he’d learned a long time ago that it would be impossible to persuade Erik to do something through suggestion alone.

An old film in black and white was still playing on the television, the volume turned down low. It occurred to Charles that both Peter and Erik were cinephiles in their own rights and must have decided to watch a movie together. Erik never wanted to watch movies with Charles—he always grew too annoyed when Charles paused every few minutes to discuss what they’d just seen, but instead of feeling hurt, Charles only wished that he had a camera to capture the sweet moment.

Head still in Erik’s lap, Peter stirred, unable to keep still even in sleep. Erik’s arm tightened over his upper half. 

Smiling to himself, Charles snatched a fleece blanket from the armchair beside the sofa and carefully laid it over the two, depositing a soft kiss on both foreheads. “Sleep well, my darlings,” he whispered, and then took one last look before leaving the father and son pair to their sweet afternoon cuddle.


	8. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's never the wrong time for a Christmas fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - fireplace

“Daddy! Can you put this letter in the mail?”

Charles peered over the morning newspaper as his six-year-old daughter came bounding into the dining room, brandishing a messily folded piece of paper in her hand. Behind Wanda, Pietro zipped past at impossible speed, causing the paper to crinkle in his wake.

“A letter, darling?” Charles shot a sidelong glance to his husband. Erik was busy feeding the baby, eleven-month-old Lorna, but the two were able to share a curious expression. “Who’s the letter to?”

Wanda marched proudly to her seat and plopped down before sliding the paper toward Charles. Her gap-toothed grin was sincere. “To Santa Claus,” she declared. 

“To Santa Claus?” Charles asked. “It’s October, sweetheart.”

“He’s gonna get so many letters in December,” Pietro chimed in as he all but teleported to his own chair, tone matter of fact. “Me and Wanda decided to send one now so he has time.”

_“_I see,” Charles said, and then tucked the slip of paper into his jacket pocket. “Of course I’ll put the letter in the mail.”

Two plates laden with eggs and toast as well as two cups of water floated to the twins while Erik continued to feed a noisy Lorna. Investing in metal dishes had been the best idea they’d ever had. “I hope you two remembered to include your little sister in your letter,” Erik said, raising a brow. “I’m sure Santa will appreciate it if you did.”

“We didn’t forget,” Wanda said.

What followed was a long morning of staff meetings, university lectures, and office hours. Charles forgot about the letter until lunchtime, when the crinkle in his pocket brought him round to the memory of their morning. With amused curiosity, Charles unfolded the slip of paper out on his desk in front of him. 

There were an impressively low amount of misspellings.

_Dear Mr. Santa Claus,_

_Hello. I hope your Halloween is good. And your Thanksgiving (if you do Thanksgiving in the North Pole, Daddy and Papa said lots of countries don’t do it.)._

_This year for Christmas, Pietro and me want matching bikes, except I want mine to be red and his to be black or silver. And then Lorna can have a baby bike with three wheels, but hers is green. Lorna also probably wants a new stuffed puppy, because Pietro accidentally ripped the ears off her old one._

_For Papa, can you get him some good shoes? He likes to go run in the morning. And for Daddy, he always just wants books. That’s what Papa gets him for Hanukkah, but he says that’s all he needs._

_Also, Pietro and me want to ask if you can come in the front door of our house instead of down the chimney this year and leave the presents in the living room instead of under the tree. _ _The only fireplace we have is in the family room, and there’s five stairs down to it. Daddy doesn’t like it when Papa has to lift his chair up and down them. _

_We know that the stockings will be above the fireplace, but that’s okay, you can skip them if you run out of time. And if it’s too hard to get the bikes from the chimney to the front door, that’s okay too. Most of all, we just want Daddy to be happy. _

_Thank you,_

_Wanda and Pietro and Lorna Lehnsherr-Xavier_

Charles’ eyes were misty when he finished reading. 

Two months later, on Christmas morning, Charles and Erik sat together on the living room sofa, watching their children zip around on their brand new bicycles. Lorna laid across their laps with her new stuffed puppy curled close, exhausted from the morning’s activities. “I think they got everything they wanted this year,” Charles said, leaning his head against Erik’s broad shoulder. 

"Of course they did,” Erik replied, one arm around Charles as the other hand carded through Lorna’s green hair. “Bikes, games, toys, clothes.”

“That’s all easy. But, I’m so, so happy. And they wanted that, too.”

Erik kissed the top of Charles’ head. “Who needs a fireplace, anyway?”

Charles smiled and closed his eyes. “Not us."


	9. Family Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - blanket

There were probably two people for whom Charles would consider willingly taking a 10-hour flight, and Edie Lehnsherr was one of them.

His mother-in-law was undoubtedly the kindest, warmest, most caring person that Charles knew. Where his own mother had never accepted or cared for much about him, Edie embraced Charles’ telepathy, his disability, and most of all, his shameless love for her son. She was the mother that Charles never had, that Charles never knew he needed so much. 

So when she called Erik up a few weeks back and informed him that she would be moving out of the family home in Germany, Charles did not hesitate to offer their assistance. Both men knew that she was getting older and packing up a house with 40-something years of things would be an immense hardship. The privilege of offering his help was well worth the struggle of a long flight on his finicky back.

Charles had visited the Lehnsherr home in Düsseldorf before, but getting Erik to levitate his chair up and down the narrow stairwell of the three-storey townhouse proved more difficult while they were both occupied with packing. After a (small) argument, it was decided that Charles would stay down on the main floor with Edie, sorting and packing items into boxes while Erik cleared out the upstairs rooms on his own. 

Of course, Charles would have much preferred to help his husband with the physical labor, but his ill grace was relatively short-lived. There was plenty of fun to be had assisting Edie—she liked to tell Charles stories about the things they came across while packing. A memory associated with an old jumper, a vignette involving some roller skates. Some of these tales involved Erik while others outdated him, and Charles was more than pleased to hang on to every last one of them. Fond family stories were not part of the Xavier family canon, which made the enjoyment and wonder even more resounding.

It certainly made the time pass, too. By mid-afternoon on the second day of their visit, the trio had about a third of the house packed away. If Charles couldn’t make Erik’s life easier upstairs, he was damn sure that he would do whatever he could to accommodate Edie, so he was busy wheeling about the living room, gathering items into cohesive, organized piles. 

Most everything in the room had been sorted into groupings that made logical sense, but a few outstanding items remained miscellaneous. A bag full of yarn, a basket of random hardware, and an old box which contained, upon a quick peek, some fabric. “Will we add these bits to our donation pile?” Charles asked his mother-in-law after he’d managed to drag each item in front of her as she sat on the sofa. “I’m not too sure what else we’d do with them.”

Edie peered over the rims of her wire-framed glasses, a slight furrow knotting her already wrinkled brow. “Let me see the box, meine Süßer,” she said in heavily-accented English. “I can’t remember what it has inside.”

Ignoring the stabbing soreness that hadn’t left his back since the lengthy plane ride, Charles leaned over and heaved the box up to the sofa. It was an aged carton made of sturdy cardboard, caked in years of dust. Erik had brought it down from the attic alongside a dozen similar boxes, all of which had contained a range of items from books to scarves. 

Upon pulling back the lid, Edie’s face immediately lit up. “Oh, I’d forgotten,” she mused in her warm voice, pulling out the thing which Charles had presumed to be fabric. “This was Erik’s most adored.”

As Edie unfolded the fabric across her lap, Charles realized that it was actually a small quilt, handmade and bright, despite its age. On each square of pastel fabric, Charles could see a variety of sweet patterns like ducks, cows, pigs, and dogs—a quilt clearly made for a baby. 

“This was Erik’s?” Charles asked, a smile stretching across his lips as he reached out to feel the blanket between his fingers. “It’s lovely.”

“I made it for him before he was born,” Edie confirmed, a smile on her own face. Although photographs confirmed that Erik greatly resembled his father, Charles could see traces of Erik in her warm green eyes when she smiled. “He didn’t set it down once until he went off to primary school. I had to tear it from his little hands, my poor Spatz,” she said fondly, pulling a small collection of photographs from the floor of the now-empty box. “Oh, you can see here.”

Charles took the pictures from his mother-in-law and immediately felt his heart balloon. Some photos were in black and white and others were in faded color, but all featured a very young Erik. One depicted a blond boy, maybe three-years-old, in corduroy dungarees as he stood in a garden. His cheeks were so large that they nearly touched his shoulders. In his chubby arms was the very blanket that sat on Edie’s lap and on his face was the poutiest expression a person could ever wear.

Another photo featured Erik, around the same age, during Hanukkah. He stood beside a fully lit menorah with a kippah on his head and wore a tiny blue suit. The blanket made another appearance here, too, clasped between Erik’s chubby fingers.

And there were more. Erik on a slide at a playground. Erik with chocolate on his massive cheeks. Erik asleep a sofa, Erik on a pony. In every photo, the green and yellow patchwork quilt accompanied him in some way or another, held tightly and loved intensely. 

“He really did love this thing, didn’t he?” Charles hummed, setting the photos on the table and making a mental note to make copies of each before they left. “That’s very sweet.”

Edie smiled down at the blanket for a moment, and then, thoughtfully, placed it in Charles’ lap. “You keep it, mein Süßer,” she said. 

Charles raised his brows. “Oh, Edie, I couldn’t,” he immediately insisted. He wouldn’t take this heirloom away from her, not now that she was out here on her own. Wouldn’t she want to have these sorts of things around to remind her of such sweet memories? “You ought to keep it.”

Edie placed her hands over Charles’ own where they clutched at the the blanket. Her green eyes and wise smile immediately put him at ease, as they always did. Like magic. “Give it to my grand baby. So they might love it just as much as my Spatz once did.”

Charles decided that he wouldn’t tell Erik about the exchange, and stowed the blanket away with this own things. Three days later, Edie was settled in to her new apartment in the retirement community and Charles and Erik took their leave.

One year later, they began to clear out a room in their own home and painted the walls a pale yellow. They placed a crib in the center, as well as a rocking chair, changing table, and the smallest pairs of clothes either of them had ever seen. 

Seven months after that, they rushed to the hospital after a frantic call from Magda. Erik sat beside Charles with his arms outstretched, ready to hold his newborn daughter for the very first time. Only then did Charles quietly drape the pastel blanket over those arms so that when Lorna first felt her Papa’s touch, she would feel the love of her entire family, too.

Erik was too overcome to say much after that, but though his own teary eyes, Charles could see Erik's fingers twine into the fabric as he held their daughter, whispering hushed German into her tiny ear.


	10. Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik is dumb and Charles is spoiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - dreams
> 
> This goofy ficlet was inspired by a dream that my little brother had. When he was seven years old, he said that he'd had the best dream of his life, in which he woke up on Christmas morning to a massive box of several pairs of brand new shoes for him.

When Erik heard Charles begin to stir, he turned around and strode toward the bed, dipping down to give his customary good morning kiss. Most mornings followed this very pattern—Erik rose with the sun, embarked on a long run, showered, and just as he finished dressing, greeted a groggy Charles as he ungracefully woke. If left to his own devices, Charles would have likely become fully nocturnal at this point, so Erik considered it a triumph to have gotten his husband on this semblance of a routine.

Except, this morning, a sleepy frown didn’t return Erik’s kiss. Rather, Charles blinked a few times before smiling to himself, as if remembering a joke. “Good morning,” he murmured pleasantly, which caused Erik’s interest to pique even further. Charles was _never _pleasant in the mornings.

“Good morning,” Erik returned as he perched on the edge of the bed, carding his long fingers through his husband’s unruly dark curls. “I see you slept well.”

Charles stretched his arms overhead and yawned. “I was just having a pleasant dream, is all,” he said, blue eyes finally blinking open fully. “You were in it.”

“Why dream when the real thing is better?” Erik pointed out.

“Mm, I doubt it,” Charles retorted. “In my dream, you woke me up and you had a huge box full of a load of new pairs of shoes for me as a surprise. It was brilliant.”

Shoes. Of course, the dream that had caused Charles to wake up in a sunny mood was about shoes. Erik supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised—Charles had a monstrous collection of clothes and shoes in his closet, many of which were entirely questionable. Blue oxfords, red suede ankle boots, corduroy trousers. So many combinations of strange styles and textures that never really made sense to Erik, but Charles seemed to enjoy it all. And, truthfully, he did usually look fairly sharp.

Scoffing, Erik pushed a lock of hair from Charles’ forehead. “My usual morning greetings don’t spark joy?” 

“You kiss me several times a day,” Charles replied innocently. “You’ve never woken me up with a box full of shoes.”

Erik couldn’t suppress the eye roll. “There’s no need for you to get new shoes. Your shoes never get wear down,” he said, nodding pointedly at the wheelchair waiting at Charles’ bedside.

Charles’ expression changed darkened slightly, and the warm glow of Charles’ mind against his own turned slightly frosty. “That isn’t true."

The metal-bender’s arms crossed over his chest. “Isn’t it?”

Evidently, Erik had said the wrong thing. A few more icy words were exchanged before Charles heaved himself into his chair and disappeared into the ensuite bathroom with a loud door slam. 

They barely exchanged words all day, Erik’s texts either going unanswered or earning terse, one-word responses. Just after lunch, Charles informed him via text that he would not be home for dinner, as he would be working late in the lab with Hank. An hour later, Erik’s phone buzzed again.

_**New Message From:** Raven _

How many years have you been with my brother, again?

**_New Message From_**: _Erik🦈_

Several.

_**New Message From:** Raven_

And you haven’t yet learned not to piss him the hell off with idiotic statements like that?

Erik swore under his breath, causing the intern who had walked past his open office door to scurry away. It seemed that whenever Charles was upset with him, Raven knew precisely when and why.

_**New Message From:** Erik🦈_

You’re infuriatingly nosy.

_**New Message From:** Raven_

And you’re an ass. He was supposed to go to lunch with me, but you put him in a shit mood, so he cancelled. 

_**New Message From:** Erik🦈_

All I said was that he doesn’t need any additional shoes. Have you seen his closet?

_**New Message From:** Raven_

You said that he doesn’t need any additional shoes because he can’t walk!

_**New Message From:** Erik🦈_

I did not say that. 

_**New Message From:** Raven_

You implied it.

_**New Message From**: Raven_

He’s not gonna forgive you if you don’t do anything about it.

_**New Message From: **Erik🦈_

I fear that you’re being self-serving here. He didn’t buy you lunch, so you’re upset.

_**New Message From:** Raven_

Even so, fix it.

As much as he would hate to admit it, Erik knew that Raven was right—Charles was very likely hurt by his careless comment. Erik hadn’t intended it to come across the way it did, but he’d learned the hard way time and time again that words carried weight, even when he didn’t mean for them to.

Sighing, Erik grabbed his car keys and coat before striding from his office, leaving his employees to wonder where in the world their boss was headed at 3:00pm on a Thursday afternoon.

As expected, Charles didn’t arrive home until very late that evening, long after Erik had fallen asleep. He briefly woke as Charles transferred himself into bed sometime around three in the morning, though he couldn’t stay conscious long enough to do much more than roll over.

But, Charles stirred several hours later, after the sun had come up, Erik slipped beside Charles once more to welcome him into the day with a kiss. “Good morning,” he greeted.

Charles offered his customary morning frown as he rubbed his eyes, nose scrunching. “Is it, though?” he all but spat. 

“It is,” Erik replied, summoning the metal crate from his closet with a quick flick of his powers and settled it on the bed. “I got you something.”

“Great,” Charles grumbled with his eyes still closed.

“Really. Open your eyes and you’ll see.”

Begrudgingly, Charles let his eyes flicker open and fall upon the small crate. For a moment, he stared at it blankly before his face lit up. “You didn’t.”

“Take a look,” Erik insisted.

Now smiling, Charles pushed himself into a seated position and tore the lid from the crate. Inside were no less than ten brand new pairs of size eight shoes in a variety of styles and colors. “Oh, these are brilliant,” Charles remarked, grabbing the black wingtip loafers to feel the leather before procuring the tan boots. “And these! These will go perfectly with my new jacket.”

Smirking, Erik helped Charles unload the crate of shoes so that he could examine each pair more thoroughly, laying the boxes all out on the bed. “I didn’t mean to upset you yesterday morning,” he said after a moment. “And I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t need shoes because you can’t walk.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” Charles said, pursing his lips. “It’s alright. And, I suppose that it’s apparent my forgiveness can be bought.”

Erik smiled. “Every husband’s dream.”

Charles grinned down at the collection of shoes laid out before him. “And you really are my dream come true."


	11. Bumbleween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda invents a holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - holidays

“It’s Bumbleween,” Wanda announced with as much conviction as a six-year-old could muster. “Happy Bumbleween.”

She watched Daddy lower his newspaper to look at her across the breakfast table. He was wearing the face that he made when he was surprised, and he wasn’t surprised very often on account of his mind talking powers. Pietro also looked at her funny, which made her want to kick him because he was supposed to be on her side, but didn’t because Daddy would get mad. 

“It’s Bumbleween, is it?” Daddy asked, his eyebrow raised.

Wanda nodded. “Mmhmm. Today is Bumbleween. We have to have a Bumbleween party.”

And it _was_ Bumbleween, because Wanda said so. She’d decided that morning that she didn’t want today to be a regular old Saturday, because they’d had so many regular old Saturdays and those were getting boring. Hanukkah was a bajillion years away, and so was Christmas, and her and Pietro’s seventh birthday was a bajillion _zillion_ years away. So, today was Bumbleween.

Daddy smiled, which was a good sign, and then folded his paper, which was an even better sign. “I had no idea that today was Bumbleween,” he said, folding his hands on the table. “You’ll have to show us how to celebrate, sweetheart.”

That made Wanda pause. She hadn’t thought about how they were supposed to celebrate Bumbleween. In fact, she didn’t know much about Bumbleween at all—it was just something that she thought of five minutes ago. 

“We have to have…an inside picnic,” she decided, thinking as hard as she could. “And decorate the whole house and wear costumes. And then when it’s nighttime, we have to go outside and look at the stars and tell stories.”

“That sounds _boring!_” declared Pietro, crossing his arms and frowning. “What about playing games?”

Wanda glared at her brother, and then stuck her tongue out at him. He could be such a _meanie_, sometimes. “There _are_ games in Bumbleween, butthead! You just didn’t let me say it!”

“You’re the butthead, butthead!”

“Stop it right now, you two,” said Daddy in his warning voice. “No fighting on Bumbleween.”

“Yeah, no fighting on Bumbleween,” Wanda agreed, still scowling. “It’s the law.”

Wanda could see that Pietro probably wanted to fight some more, but it would be a bad idea to break the Bumbleween rules, so he just flopped back in his seat. “I only want it to be Bumbleween if we can play hide-and-seek,” he said finally. 

“Hide-and-seek is a Bumbleween game,” Wanda confirmed. “We play hide-and-seek after the inside picnic.”

Daddy’s smile was back now, so it meant he wasn’t mad at them for fighting. It’s probably a good thing that Papa was at the store, because he would have canceled Bumbleween right there if they’d been fighting in front of him. Sometimes, it was a good thing when Papa was at the store, but only sometimes.

“Why don’t you two start to get the decorations and costumes?” Daddy said, backing his wheelchair away from the table. “I’ll text Papa and have him pick up some groceries for our inside picnic. What do we eat on Bumbleween?”

“Ice cream!” Pietro chirped, but Wanda shook her head. 

“Not ice cream. Cake _with_ ice cream,” she said. “But only for dessert. For the picnic, we eat macaroni and cheese, pancakes, and watermelon.”

Wanda spend the next hour with Pietro getting the house all ready for Bumbleween. They uncovered a dusty box of old party decorations in the garage that was full of colorful streamers, confetti, and even balloons, which they placed strategically about the living room and dining room. From her costume box, Wanda pulled out tutus, a Superman cape, a princess crown, two cowboy hats, and several feather boas, which was very fortunate, because those items were the exact costumes that a traditional Bumbleween celebration called for. 

She was in the middle of tying streamers to Daddy’s wheelchair while he and Pietro blew up even more balloons when Papa finally walked in, arms full of grocery bags. His face looked confused, like it did when she and Pietro were doing something he didn’t like. Daddy only smiled up at him.

“Happy Bumbleween, my love,” said Daddy, and then tipped his cowboy hat at Papa like Woody from Toy Story.

“Bumble…what?” Papa said, the wrinkle between his eyes getting even more wrinkly and deep.

“Bumbleween!” Wanda exclaimed as Pietro dashed at Papa with the other cowboy hat and blue feathered boa. “We’re having a Bumbleween party, Papa!”

“Wanda graciously reminded me this morning that today is Bumbleween,” said Daddy to Papa. “So, we’re celebrating.”

“With an inside picnic, games, and then looking at the sky,” Pietro insisted as he presented Papa’s Bumbleween costume to him. “You have to wear this!”

Daddy and Papa stared at each other for forever and ever, which meant that they were having a talk inside their heads, until, finally, Papa set down the groceries on the table and accepted the hat and boa. “Alright,” he agreed, and then put his hat on his head. “Happy Bumbleween, then.”

The rest of the Bumbleween celebrations went perfectly, in Wanda’s opinion. Papa cooked macaroni and cheese, pancakes, and cut up a watermelon while Daddy made tea and hot cocoa. They all laid out on a big blanket in the middle of the living room to indulge in their inside picnic of traditional Bumbleen cuisine, which just so happened to be Wanda’s favorite foods, too. Then, they each had cake and ice cream, which was amazing even though Papa and Daddy only let them have one piece each. 

Hide-and-seek came next, which they played for another bajillion hours until they all declared Daddy the Ultimate Winner when he got Papa to make his chair float up to the attic while Pietro was the seeker. It made Piero a little bit mad that Daddy hid so well, but he got over it when Wanda reminded him that it was against the rules to be mad on Bumbleween. 

After hide-and-seek, they played Chutes and Ladders and Candy Land until nighttime, when Daddy made more tea and cocoa and Wanda helped Papa set up another big blanket in the backyard, far away from the house. Papa made Daddy’s chair float again over the rocks and dirt until they were all laying on the blanket in the grass, watching the sun go down while they sipped on their warm drinks. 

Papa told them stories about the stars and said that they formed pictures in the sky called “constations.” Daddy also told them that the stars were so, so far away that it took a million zillion years for the light to even get to earth, which sounded fake, but Papa said that Daddy was the smartest person in the whole wide universe, so she didn’t think it was. 

The sky got darker and darker and the stars got brighter and brighter as the night went on, and Daddy and Papa took turns telling her and Pietro different stories about all sorts of things. Papa talked about Germany and how machines work and the things he used to do when he was their age a million years ago, and Daddy talked about Auntie Raven and science and all sorts of amazing stuff that happens in the universe. 

At some point, Wanda must have fallen asleep on the blanket outside, because the next thing she knew, she was in her pajamas being tucked into bed by Daddy and Papa. Papa’s feather boa tickled her cheek when he bent down to kiss her forehead, but she was so sleepy that she forgot to tell him to take it off. After Daddy leaned over to kiss her too, Wanda heard them both tell her that they loved her very much, and then said the same to Pietro on the other side of the room. Daddy’s wheels and Papa’s shoes squeaked on the wooden floor while they finally left, leaving their bedroom door open just a crack. 

Once alone, Wanda rolled over in her bed and thought all about how today had been the best Bumbleween of all time ever, feeling warm and happy from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as she drifted off to sleep. She couldn’t wait for the next Bumbleween to come.


	12. Old Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - Anniversary
> 
> Okay. There is a little bit of angst, here. However, it gets better, I promise you.

When Charles awoke on that chilly autumn morning, the first thing he registered was the smell of maple syrup.

Sapphire eyes fluttered open to the sight of Erik, freshly showered and crisply dressed, placing a tray laden with pancakes, eggs, tea, and fruit down on his bedside table.

“Breakfast in bed?” Charles murmured with a sleepy smile.

Erik leaned over and affirmed Charles’ suspicion with a kiss on the forehead, followed by another on his waiting lips. “You deserve it, Schatz,” Erik said.

Charles smiled, but could see a darkness in Erik’s eyes, a troubled glaze clouding his sharp facial features, ones which Charles had managed to soften over their several years together (which had been no easy feat, _thank you very much_.) 

“Mm. What’s the occasion?” Charles asked as he began the slow work of pushing himself into a seated position. After a long night of letting his spine stiffen, his muscles tighten, his body grow rigid, sitting up was typically an arduous and uncomfortable affair, one which rarely unfolded without a short series of uncouth words at the very least.

Erik watched carefully as Charles’ knuckles went white against the sheets in response to the stabbing sear radiating from his lower back to his extremities. Charles could see Erik’s face growing pained—more pained than it typically did when he witnessed his lover hurting—but made no offer to assist. Which was unusual. No, instead of gently issuing a hand or an arm, Erik was a horrified statue as he stood over a struggling Charles. Confused and slightly frustrated by his beloved’s inaction, Charles relaxed the wall he had against Erik’s mind for sake of privacy and let himself peek inside.

_Oh._

Right. Today was October 12th. The six year anniversary of the day Erik sent a bullet into Charles’ lower back. The day that changed all of their lives forever, which sent them on a trajectory that no one could have ever foreseen.

Each of the past October 12ths had come and gone with a fair amount of anguish on both of their parts. A few of the years saw Erik leave the school entirely for several days surrounding the date, returning late in the night to crawl up beside Charles and whisper apology after apology into his ear. Others had them lying in bed, hands interlaced, saying nothing at all as hot tears fell down their cheeks.

This year, it seemed, Erik was expecting to follow suit. And in that moment, Charles decided that there would be none of that. 

_Stop,_ said Charles firmly, in Erik’s head. _No more mourning, Erik._.

The loud reverberation of his voice in Erik’s head caused the metalbender to shift slightly where he stood, but his facial expression changed only minutely. _It’s impossible not to, Charles,_ he replied, just as firm, although his tone was laced with sorrow, with guilt. _Look how much pain you’re in. That is directly my fault. There’s no denying that._

By this stage, Charles had made his way into a seat, leaning against the padded headboard of the bed he and Erik shared. Ache and tightness still wrapped around his spine, but he schooled his face into a placid expression. For Erik’s sake. “We’ve been through this. It was an accident, love,” he said aloud, patting the space beside him in invitation. “You did so much else on that day.”

Tentatively, Erik accepted Charles’ invite and took a seat on the side of the bed, posture stiff. Charles immediately reached for Erik’s balled fists, slowly worked those long fingers until they were unfurled, and kissed at each and every fingertip. Erik’s cool eyes remained downcast, frowning and stony until he spoke again. “You’re right. I killed Shaw and made you suffer through that. I nearly killed hundreds of innocent men and women. I was an inch away from leaving you.”

“And in the end, you came home with me instead,” Charles said gently, reaching up to turn Erik’s face toward his own. One hand remained laced with Erik’s while the other held his chin, thumb stroking that striking cheekbone. “That’s also the day you promised me that you’re going to stay with me forever. The day you first told me you love me. The day that helped us become who we are.” 

Their eyes met, and Charles allowed the levee that held all of the love, gratitude, pride, and hope that he held for Erik to break, sending the tidal wave of affection pouring into his lover's head. He watched as the overwhelming flood overtook the man, could see it in his lover’s eyes as the outpour permeated his conscious and subconscious thoughts. Their joined hands tightened then, and Erik, unable to ignore the onslaught of Charles’ love, leaned forward to gently knock their foreheads together. Charles shut his eyes and let his other hand come to a rest at the base of Erik’s skull.

“Your love for me is truly unfounded,” Erik murmured after a moment.

“Yes, probably. I don’t know why I love someone who gets out of bed at 5:00 A.M. because he _likes_ it and who actively prefers black licorice to all other sweets,” Charles replied, knotting his fingers through Erik’s tawny hair. “You’re lucky that you look like an archangel.”

“Cute,” Erik hummed, and then pulled back so that they could make eye contact once more. “Really, Charles. I’m incredibly lucky that you still let me be here after all that. You’re far more generous than you ought to be.”

Charles smiled. “My love, our Victorian period of mourning for my legs has long passed. It’s incredibly improper to still be so worked up over it at this stage. Can’t we move forward without devoting a day to be sad about it? Because I really don’t care any longer.”

Erik raised a brow. “Right.”

“I have every last thing that I could ever want, Erik,” Charles promised with conviction. “Our school is flourishing. Our students are happy, safe, and eager to learn. My health is excellent, we’ve got tickets to see The Beatles in January, and I get to spend every single day with the person I love most in the entire world. If I had to give a single thing up in exchange for my legs, I absolutely, positively, without a doubt, would refuse.”

Charles could see Erik’s shoulders sag ever so slightly, his tension easing away inch by inch. “I’m still very lucky to have you, Schatz.”

“Yes, you are. Now, come show me how lucky you feel and kiss me.”

Erik didn’t need to be asked twice. Their lips met seconds later, one of Charles’ hands coming to rest between Erik’s wide shoulders, the other cradling his cheek. The kiss was intense and hungry, communicating all the other important pieces that words could not. Only when they both ran out of breath did they pull back, cheeks flushed. 

“Join me?” Charles asked, gesturing to the breakfast tray. “After you take off your bloody trousers—I refuse to allow anyone to wear _jeans_ in my own bed.”

Erik smiled, slipped out of his jeans and jumper, and slotted himself beside Charles.

One year later, on October 12th, Charles woke to the smell of maple syrup once more, only this time, Erik was smiling, already naked beside him, eager to feed him heart-shaped pancakes and spend the morning in bed at his side.

And five years after that, on October 12th, the maple syrup smell came with the sight of Erik on one knee, levitating an elegant gold ring inches above his palms. 

And every year for the rest of their lives, they celebrated October 12th as the anniversary of the many times their lives took a sharp turn, sending any and all expectations to the grave and ensuring that they never lost sight of the mountains they climbed in order to get where they ended up—happy old men, surrounded by dear family and friends, their promise to stay with the other forever unbroken until their last days on Earth.


	13. Papers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - children

Something was going on, and Charles could sense it from the very moment his eyes popped open that morning. 

Mornings were typically a noisy affair, with the shrieks of his seven-year-old step-children echoing through their small family home. Charles always thought about how lucky he was to have a morning person for a husband—if he had to be awake to tend to the children at six in the bloody morning on a _Saturday_, he would lose his damn mind. 

Today, however, there was no yelling, no patter of small footsteps on their wooden floors, no booming resonance of Erik’s voice as he demanded to know what the children were doing and how one of them managed to get on top of the refrigerator. Instead, Charles could only hear the rumblings of their minds as the three convened in the kitchen. Typically, Charles didn’t enter their heads unless invited, intent respecting privacy, but curiosity was a tempting vice and Charles wasn’t known for any levels of monkish restraint. 

When he pushed up against Erik’s mind, however, he was surprised by a gentle rebuff. _Good morning, Schatz,_ came the voice in his head. _Is everything alright?_

_The house is suspiciously quiet. Have our children been abducted?_

A warm, mental smile returned. _Just well-behaved, today. Breakfast is ready when you are._

And with that, Charles felt the solid wall that Erik had so articulately learned to build shutter completely, leaving Charles entirely excluded from any mental activity.

He wheeled into the kitchen thirty minutes later, still curious and slightly annoyed that Erik was keeping him out of his head without offering any decent reason why. The children were indeed behaving very oddly, as well. Normally, when Charles rolled out for breakfast, Pietro was on his thousandth lap around the house of the morning and Wanda was chattering Erik’s ear off about one thing or another. Or the twins would be engaged in a heat argument over something, or playing a game, or doing anything but sitting quietly in their seats, eating their breakfast with smiles on their faces as they were right now.

“Morning,” he said tentatively as he rolled up to his space at the table. 

“Morning, Charles!” Pietro chirped brightly, rosy cheeks covered in syrup. “Did you see my dream last night? It was a dream where I was in a race car, and….”

Charles nodded along with Pietro as he recounted his dream, wracking his brain for an answer as to why the children were so calm. It wasn’t a holiday, and they weren’t in trouble at school. Hell, this entire week, their hadn’t been any incidents with the twins causing damage to their property or themselves, so they had no reason to act so….unlike themselves. Wanda never butt in to Pietro’s story to counter a claim with a fact she knew, Pietro didn’t jump and run as he spoke, and neither of them argued with each other.

They had to have done something before he woke up, Charles decided as he sipped at his steaming mug of tea. And were trying to hide it, for whatever reason. It was a tall task to hide something from a telepath indefinitely, however, so Charles figured that it was only a matter of time before he found out. 

And, indeed, about midway through their meal, Wanda released a big sigh, stood with her hands on her hips, and declared: “I don’t want to wait anymore!”

Immediately, Pietro stood as well. “No!” he argued, tiny hands balling. “We’re supposed to wait until _after_ breakfast, Wanda!”

“I don’t care! I’m tired of thinking about other things! Papa, can we do it now?”

Charles watched, amused, as Erik’s face fell, just a touch, defeated as the twins spoiled whatever the heck they’d been hiding all morning long. His husband’s broad shoulders sagged underneath his tight black jumper, which hugged his chest _just so_, while that disconcerting mental wall thinned just slightly. “Well, since you’ve already spoiled it, I suppose.”

“I call getting it!” Pietro announced, and then disappeared, leaving a flutter of wind in his wake.

“No fair!” Wanda cried as she darted after her brother, out of the kitchen and down the hall toward their bedrooms.

Charles cleared his throat then, turning his full attention toward Erik. “Care to explain?”

Erik, now grumpy, sipped his coffee. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Moments later, Pietro reappeared at the table, clutching a manila envelope. Wanda arrived about ten seconds after, slightly out of breath, flustered, but determined. 

“We were gonna wait till later to give these to you, but here you go,” said Pietro proudly, extending the manila envelope out.

“Open it!” Wanda urged.

Charles eyed the envelope suspiciously, but accepted it in his hands. He truly had no idea what sort of thing his two seven-year-olds could possibly give him in an official-looking manila envelope. Erik was still proving to be no help at all, simply sipping his coffee as he sat in his seat and watched them all. 

_Should I be nervous?_

_Open it, Schatz._

Resigned, Charles slipped his finger under the seal of the manila envelope and tore it open, extracting a small ream of papers from inside. As soon as his eyes landed on the first page, however, he immediately began to tear up. 

It was an adoption application, with an identical one beneath it. One for Pietro and one for Wanda, with everything completely filled out aside from Charles’ signature. 

“Oh, my darlings…”

The twins were two when Charles first started dating Erik, and were five when they tied the knot. From the very start, Charles had been entirely smitten with the two little ones, falling head-over-heels for the entire Lehnsherr clan. He’d long considered them his own children and felt more than blessed to have them in his life. And now…now, they wanted him to adopt them. 

“Why are you crying?” Wanda demanded, marching to his side to tug on his arm. “Are you sad?”

Tears blurred Charles’ vision, and as he took a deep breath to steady himself, his chest filled up to the brim with a sea of joy and love that he felt he was about to burst. He’d never known that he could be so happy and love so intensely until that very moment—it was as if, suddenly, he was living in another world, a world where all this love had been there all along. 

“No, my love, I’m not sad,” he blubbered as he wiped his eyes. “I’m happy. I’m so, so happy…”

Pleased, Wanda climbed her way onto Charles’ lap, and Pietro did the same, and soon enough, Charles had his arms wrapped around his two children, pressing his forehead into their hair. The little ones hugged back and giggled, not fully understanding how meaningful this truly was, but Charles could feel their love for him radiating, too. Soon enough, Erik’s strong arms found their way around all of them, his lips leaving an imprint on Charles’ tear-streaked cheek.

“I take this as a yes, Schatz?” Erik’s own voice was a bit more solid than Charles’, but it still quavered just a bit.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” Charles affirmed, and then allowed a fresh new stream of tears to spill over on his cheeks. “I love you two with all my heart and soul and I am beyond honored to be your dad.”

“Yay!” Cheered the twins, shooting their fists up in celebration. “Does this mean we can call you Dad?” Wanda asked eagerly.

“Of course you can, my darling. Can I call you two my son and daughter?”

“Yeah!”

Charles smiled at Erik as he held the children—_his_ children—tighter. “Brilliant."


	14. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - proposal

Erik was going to propose. 

The metal-bender had been behaving strangely for several weeks now, keeping a firm distance between his mind and Charles’ curious presence. It wasn’t that Charles liked to pry or intrude, but when he didn’t get verbal answers for questions he asked, he liked to flex his telepathic tendrils within Erik’s head to gauge his mod. Each time he attempted these past weeks, however, he was met with a rebuff from Erik, a rejection to his gentle inquiry. 

As good as Erik was at keeping his mind behind a guarded wall when he wanted, he wasn’t immune to distraction or projection. So, it just so happened that Erik was dozing off one lazy afternoon, head in Charles’ lap as they watched a movie together on the sofa, when his mind projected a vivid image of himself on one knee. It wasn’t just a dream, either, because dreams had a hazy, nonsensical glow to them. No, this was a fully-formed projection with intention and rooted purpose.

_Erik was going to propose,_ Charles realized, giddy as he ran his fingers through Erik’s auburn curls.

And honestly, it was about time. They’d met in a bar six years before, right after Charles had taken his position at Columbia University. Drunkenly, Charles had plopped himself beside Erik at the counter, leaned close to him, and told him that he’d never laid eyes on someone who looked more like a Roman statue than Erik. Somehow, that godawful line had snatched Erik’s attention long enough to warrant an exchange of phone numbers, which lead to a first date, then a second. Two years after that, they moved into their first apartment together.

The true test of their relationship came a mere three months after they’d settled in to their home when a drunk driver sent Charles’ car spinning out across the highway. When the paramedics managed to extract him from his pretzeled vehicle, Charles was clinging to life by the thinnest of threads. And when he awoke in the intensive care unit two weeks later, it was to the news that he would never walk again. The recovery, both physical and mental, was the hardest process Charles could ever imagine enduring—and it would always be ongoing, of course—but the unending support that Erik offered was the true difference-maker. 

He’d stayed with him each day in the hospital, even after Charles insisted he go home. He held his hand through every grueling appointment, laid beside him in the narrow hospital bed whenever a nurse turned a blind eye. And when he’d finally received his discharge, he’d come home to a completely renovated apartment, fit out to be completely accessible for his new physical limitations. Upon seeing the lowered kitchen counter topped with his beloved tea kettle, Charles completely broke down, reduced to tears, so overcome with gratitude and love for the man who had stuck by his side through the most traumatic points in his life.

Four long years later, Erik was finally going to propose. And Charles couldn’t be happier.

Except…except, Erik was still intent on taking his sweet time, apparently. In the weeks following Charles’ discovery, there had been _dozens_ of brilliant opportunities for Erik to get down on his knee and do it. They’d gone on romantic dinners, lovely strolls through the park, day trips away from the city. Hell, Erik had even spontaneously suggested they go apple picking, and they’d spent all day long in the most picturesque bloody orchard Charles had ever bloody seen in his entire bloody life, and still nothing.

Charles knew he hadn’t been mistaken, too, because he’d torn up the entire apartment while Erik was out one day in search of the ring. He’d discovered it tucked away in Erik’s sock drawer after a few minutes (alright, an hour) of searching, and it even had his name engraved on the inside of the intricate silver band, undoubtedly handmade. The discovery had prompted Charles to head out to a jewelry store that very day to purchase a stunning silver band for Erik as well, eager to complement the one he would soon wear on his finger.

It made no sense, though. Erik had the ring. He’d had countless opportunities. What the bloody hell was he waiting for?

Charles decided that he was tired of waiting one evening after Erik surprised him with a romantic homemade meal of smoked salmon and roasted vegetables, complete with candles and wine. Like many instances before, Charles had been absolutely sure that Erik was going to pop the question, and also like many instances before, grew extraordinarily disappointed when Erik stood up to start on the dishes with absolutely no kneeling or promise lifelong devotion to each other.

Exasperated and unwilling to spend another bloody minute in this waiting zone, Charles followed Erik to the kitchen, and then proceeded to scoot out of his wheelchair and onto the kitchen floor, landing on his arse with a _thud._

“Charles!” In a moment, Erik was at his side, hands frantically finding their way around his body. “Are you al—“

Before Erik could complete his sentence, Charles whipped out the small box he’d been carrying around for two full weeks and popped it open, revealing the ring. “I can’t get down on one knee for you, but I _can_ do this,” Charles said, eyes meeting Erik’s own. “Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, will you marry me?”

Erik was frozen for a moment, sharp, elegant features a mask of surprise and uncertainty. His grey-green eyes settled on the flat silver band, halved by a steak of pure black diamond inlaid within the silver. Very gently, Erik raised a single finger to lift the ring from its velvet casing and spun it in the air, the light reflecting magnificently off of the diamond. 

Then, with the ring still in the air, Erik knit his eyebrows together. “I was going to propose,” he said curtly, face stony.

Charles raised his chin. “When? Hopefully before the turn of the next century.”

Erik’s face and body grew even more rigid. “You knew.”

“You projected. Over a month ago.”

“I was waiting for the right time,” said Erik defensively, petulant.

As well as he could while seated on the kitchen floor with his legs stretched awkwardly before him, Charles leaned forward to clasp Erik’s beautiful face between his hands. “My love, every single moment from the second you decided you wanted to marry me has been the right time. I would have said yes after a romantic dinner, I would have said yes while sitting on the toilet. I don’t care, Erik. I just want to marry you. More than anything in the entire world.”

They locked eyes once more, Erik’s head still held in place by Charles’ hands. His frown remained, although it did soften just a touch as they stared each other down. Finally, Erik sighed and raised his left hand, letting the ring slip over his second finger. The band was too loose, but Charles watched as it tightened into place with a brief moment of concentration. “It’s a nice alloy,” he admitted.

“A capital compliment coming from you, darling,” Charles said as he snared Erik’s hand to admire. “The one you made for me is stunning.”

“You filthy snoop,” said Erik with an eye roll, but raised his free hand in the air. Moments later, the silver ring Charles had seen weeks ago levitated toward them on the kitchen floor. Charles extended his left hand as well and allowed Erik to fit it around his ring finger. As soon as it was tightened to perfection, a jolt went through Charles’ body, as if he’d been electrified with brand new energy.

“You never said yes or no,” Charles reminded the man as he beamed at his left hand, admiring the detailed carvings Erik had so skillfully engraved. 

Lacing their fingers together, Erik leaned in. “Yes, Charles Francis Xavier. I’ll marry you."

Charles’ body felt like it was full of helium. “Shall we celebrate?”

Erik’s sharklike smile crawled across his lips before he stood up with Charles in his arms. “We shall,” he agreed, and then carried his fiancé off to their bedroom to consummate their engagement.


	15. The Professor's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I deviate from canon yet again <3 After Cuba, Erik came back a few years later. No Vietnam, no serum. The school flourished. ALL *clap* IS *clap* WELL *clap*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - birthday

**September 30th, 1967**

There was commotion downstairs. Too much commotion for 5:32 am on Saturday morning, certainly. In the past four months that Erik had reassumed his residence at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, he’d come to grow adjusted to the schedules of his co-inhabitants. Most didn’t rise until at least 7:00am, with some—like the illustrious headmaster who also happened to be snoozing beside him—all but refusing to crawl out of bed until well past 9. Sometimes, Erik might run in to some restless student or Hank as he made his way to the grounds for his morning jog, but for the most part, he enjoyed the quiet stillness of the early mornings for himself.

Today, however, from what Erik could gauge by the reverberating metallic fields, there were at least a five downstairs. And when he arrived to assess the situation, he realized that he’d vastly underestimated the amount of people.

All throughout the lower floors of the house, a minimum of twenty students were stringing streamers, tying balloons, hanging homemade banners about the corridors. Both Hank and Alex were stationed in the kitchen, preparing what looked to be a smorgasbord of breakfast food far more decadent than the typical affair of eggs, oatmeal, and toast. 

“Did I miss a memo?” Erik said curtly as he watched a pair of young students scurried past with a cardboard banner. 

As was typical, Alex only rolled his eyes when Erik spoke, still angry over all that had happened on that beach. Hank, however, spared a moment from his furious whisking, to pay Erik a glance. “It’s Charles’ birthday. We always celebrate.”

Erik’s jaw locked. Of _course_ it was Charles’ birthday—they spent this very day five years ago lounging in the back garden, playing chess and drinking scotch until the sun went down. Charles had even remarked to him that it had been one of the better birthdays he’d ever had, reveling in the beautiful simplicity of the time they spent together. How could he have forgotten?

“It slipped my mind,” Erik admitted, leaning against the counter. “Damn.”

“Right. You’re known for being _so_ thoughtful,” Alex finally snapped, eyes narrowed as he chopped strawberry after strawberry. “We’re all shocked that you forgot the Professor’s birthday.”

“Alex,” Hank warn, although his tone held more exasperation than anything. “Let’s not argue today, please? Charles hates it when you argue.”

As much as Erik was akin to disagree with Hank and Alex whenever he possibly could, he couldn’t right now. They were both right.

The house had transformed into a birthday wonderland by the time Charles arrived in the dining room a few hours later. An excited cheer of “Happy birthday, Professor!” greeted Charles as he wheeled into an explosion of confetti poppers. 

Erik watched as the telepath laughed and shook the stray confetti out of his dark curls. His face was alight with joy as he took in his surroundings. “You’re all far too lovely,” he beamed, wheeling to his place at the head of the table. “Thank you so much.”

Excited chatter filled the room then as the students dug in to their waffle breakfasts. Erik was in his new regular spot at Charles’ right hand, across from Hank and beside Raven. As soon as Charles was parked in his spot, Raven stood to her feet, glided to Charles, and dropped a small gift in his lap as she bent to kiss his cheek. Hank, too, grinned as he slid a wrapped parcel toward Charles. And then several more students and staff danced over to Charles to deposit gifts and wishes of a happy birthday to him.

“Look at all your admirers, birthday boy,” Erik observed finally, once Charles was surrounded by a dearth of wrapped packages and cards.

Charles merely smiled back. “Can you blame them?”

No, he could not.

The remainder of the day panned out in similar form. After breakfast, the young students corralled everyone into a large classroom to entertain the masses with a “birthday performance,” which consisted of some silly sketches and a synchronized dance, of sorts. Erik thought it was all a bit strange, but Charles seemed delighted, cheering loudly as he sat among his students and staff, laughing along, offering compliments and adoration.

After that, everyone stormed outside for what Erik found out was an annual soccer game. He was offered a spot on one side, but opted to sit beside Charles and a few other non-participants on the sideline to observe instead. And it was interesting indeed to watch how the students and staff utilized their mutations to play—and perhaps even more interesting to try to guess what sort of strange call Charles would make as the sideline judge. Notably, he’d called a penalty on Sean for using his mutation to float himself over the heads of his opponents, ball clasped between his feet. The whole game consisted of moves like that, and Erik was rapt.

Dinner was another celebratory affair, with massive trays of lasagna and the largest birthday cake that Charles had ever seen. A soulful rendition of “Happy Birthday” unofficially ended their celebrations, with students beginning to trickle upstairs soon after, no doubt exhausted from their early morning. And although Erik had enjoyed an admittedly nice day, he was glad when Charles suggested they take their leave, too. Being back at the school and surrounded by so many people was still taking some adaptation. Which made the quiet of their bedroom even more wonderful when the door finally closed behind them.

“What a day,” Charles announced with a sigh, body slumping against his chair.

Immediately, Erik moved behind the man to begin a slow, tender massage along his knotted shoulders.The telepath nearly mewled under his touch, melting into his hands like putty. “You seemed to be having fun.”

“I was. I feel beyond humbled to have such caring people around me.”

“But?”

Charles rolled his neck back to glance up at Erik. “No but. I love that the students take so much time to do this for me. It’s merely a tiring day.”

Erik smiled, and then leaned over to drop a kiss against Charles’ lips. “I'd completely forgotten that it was your birthday,” he admitted.

Charles smirked back. “I’m aware. That’s alright. You’ve been gone a long time.”

With a flick of his wrist, Erik had Charles’ wheelchair spun around so that it faced him directly, and then he carefully lifted the man from his seat. “I was thinking that tomorrow, we could spend the day together in the garden, playing chess and drinking scotch until the sun goes down. A day-after-your-birthday present,” he suggested. 

Charles’ smirk melted into a proper smile then, head coming to a rest on Erik’s broad shoulder. “That would be the best day-after-birthday I’ve ever had, my love.”

“Excellent,” Erik agreed, and then carried Charles to bed to show him that he, too, was one of the Professor’s many admirers.


	16. I Hate Weddings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - wedding
> 
> This is long as hell and very rambling and kinda nonsensical? Eh, it's fluff. Enjoy! :)

Erik hated weddings. Hated them. There was nothing less enjoyable than spending an entire day stuffed in a tuxedo, plastering a smile on his face, indulging in traditions he found uncomfortable and outmoded. 

Azazel knew this. He’d heard Erik voice his opinion about weddings time and time again. And yet, he’d still had the gall to ask Erik to be his Best Man. Of course, Erik had refused initially, telling his best friend that he would teleconference in to the ceremony and share a drink with him to celebrate at some later date, but the stubborn Russian refused to hear it. At some point along the way, the path of least resistance lead Erik to finally conceding to assume the “coveted” role of Azazel’s best man, if only just to shut him up.

The whole ordeal grated on Erik, though. Bachelor parties, tuxedo fittings, rehearsals, and photoshoots had consumed much of Erik’s past several weeks, and his social battery was critically low. He liked Azazel’s fiancée well enough—she was a pretty shapeshifter who’s skin was as blue as Azazel’s was red—but he didn’t like her enough to want to sit through all of her pre-wedding obligations. Truth be told, Erik was very much looking forward to this day being over so that he could peel his tuxedo off in the quiet of his apartment and be _alone_.

“The ceremony was supposed to start six minutes ago,” Erik grunted as he checked his watch in the groom’s suite, which was more like a shed than anything. Apparently, Raven had wanted a “rustic” wedding, so she’d chosen a venue thirty damn miles out of the city at some ski lodge. “What's taking so damn long?”

“Your undying support makes me a lucky man, Lehnsherr,” Azazel quipped back as he lounged on the high-backed chair they’d been provided, but he glanced at his phone anyway. “Ah,” he nodded, before furiously tapping away at his screen. “The ramps are not fitting.”

“Ramps?” Erik said irritably. 

“For Raven’s brother. Her Best Man,” Azazel confirmed. “He just got back from a sabbatical in England, which is why you didn’t meet him at the rehearsal.”

Even if this guy had been at any of the events Erik had been forced to attend, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. He’d spent most of the time sulking, plotting his escape. “Why does he need ramps?”

Azazel raised one blue eye to Erik. “He’s in a wheelchair. Raven talked about his car accident for an hour the other day.”

“You know I wasn’t listening,” Erik grumped back, scrambling to his feet. “If poor logistical planning is what’s holding us up, I’ll go fix the damn things myself.”

“You’re a brilliant man,” Azazel grinned, and followed Erik out of their drafty shed toward the altar.

Thankfully, the couple had opted for a “small” ceremony, so only two dozen people were seated on wooden benches in the outdoor space facing the altar, which was artfully made of branches, vines, and rock. At the rear of the aisle, where the procession would first enter, Erik spotted the metallic sheet settled over the two steps. Immediately, he noticed the 5-inch gap between the end of the sheet and the flat ground of the aisle, an easily-avoidable mistake which made him roll his eyes. “Idiotic,” he grumbled under his breath, and then, with the swipe of a hand, borrowed the metal from the width of the ramp to supplement the length. Once the gap was bridged, Erik reformed the structure so that it fit more snugly over the steps, leaving it far sturdier than it had been before.

Once he was satisfied with the fit, Erik traipsed to the altar, doing his damndest to ignore the interested stares of the wedding guests. Some were clearly mutants—like the gigantic, blue, furry thing in the back row—but others were less obvious. If they knew Azazel and Raven, they all had to be at least somewhat aware of mutantkind, but Erik did not appreciate being ogled at by humans like he was some show.

The ramp at the side of the altar was far worse than the other one. It had been clumsily dropped over the steps with no thought or care for its intended purpose, clearly. There was absolutely no way a wheelchair would be able to navigate up or down on its own. “This was your solution?” Erik couldn’t help but spit at the two black-shirted employees from the ski lodge, who were dawdling beside the ramp on their walkie-talkies. “Have you ever _seen_ a wheelchair?"

“We’re trying to get our other ramps from the Events team,” one of the young men said defensively. “Someone put them in storage, and no one has the key.”

Erik had never met anyone more useless, he decided. Part of him wanted to wait around see how Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle Dum handled the situation, but this day was already long enough, and Erik’s patience ran out a long time ago. With a simple wave of his hand, Erik reformed the sorry metal sheet into a sturdy, solid wheelchair ramp. 

“There. Can we start?”

Azazel grinned, teeth white against his scarlet skin. “We can.”

The ceremony was fine. Erik stood politely in his spot at Azazel’s side and tried to smile when the music started. A few people who Erik didn’t know walked down the aisle before Raven, as well as a small red-headed girl with a basket of flowers. Everybody stood after a few minutes of this, which Erik took to mean the bride was _finally_ here. His suspicion was confirmed when Raven emerged at the end of the aisle, magnificent in a simple, strapless white gown, her blue skin shimmering in the gentle sunlight. 

As lovely as she looked (although Erik would never admit it), he felt his eyes drift toward the man at her side. Seated in a silver manual wheelchair was the man Erik took to be Raven’s brother. He was young, with dark, wavy hair that touched just above his shoulders, pale skin, and soft features. From where Erik stood, he could see that the man had ruby lips and a pleasant, if not a little proud smile. Once they’d reached the altar, Raven bent over to receive a kiss on the cheek from her brother, and then ascended the ramp to meet Azazel at the center. All smiles, the man followed. (And had absolutely no trouble traversing the ramp, _ thank you._)

As the minister prattled and the couple said their vows, Erik found his attention being pulled back to Raven’s brother. From this close proximity, he could see that his eyes were a bright blue and that he had a light smattering of freckles dusting the tip of his nose. He sat in his chair with impeccable posture, his white-toothed smile never leaving the friendly face. And when the couple was finally declared husband and wife to a raucous round of cheers, he wiped a few stray tears from those oceanic eyes, eyebrows furrowing in an emotional grin.

Only when the man returned Erik’s gaze did he realize he’d been staring. Their eyes locked as Raven and Azazel traipsed down the aisle hand in hand, and for a moment, Erik forgot to breathe. They remained their at the altar, frozen where they stood and sat, until something inside Erik snapped. “Excuse me,” he grunted, finally pulling his eyes away from the man’s magnetic blues, cheeks warming just a bit as he stalked from the platform to steal a moment of privacy in the wash room.

At the reception dinner, Erik trudged his way to his assigned seat and nearly had a heart attack when he saw who would be at his side. Raven’s brother, chatting amiably with the furry blue giant he had seen in the audience, was positioned at the setting to Erik’s right. He didn’t know why the man’s presence had hypnotized him so, and Erik wanted _nothing_ to do with whatever it was that was behind it, but Azazel would probably end their friendship forever if Erik skipped out on the kosher dinner he had catered as part of his attempts at bribing Erik to come. And, really, Erik didn’t have _too_ many friends whose presence he actually enjoyed like Azazel. It wouldn’t be a good idea to lose that.

So, Erik slipped into his seat beside the man. _Charles Xavier_, the placard on his plate read. A regal name, befitting of his elegant presence. As he chatted away to the blue mutant, Erik noticed that he had a refined English accent, lyrical, but deeper than he’d expected from someone of his slight stature. 

“Ah, Azazel’s Best Man!” 

It took Erik a few seconds to realize that Charles Xavier was addressing him. Blinking, Erik turned to face him, momentarily stunned by the force of his bright smile. “Yes?”

“Raven told me that you’re the one who fixed the ramps for me,” beamed Charles, sticking a broad hand out between them. “I’m Charles Xavier. I can’t thank you enough.”

Reflexively, Erik met Charles’ hand with his own for a shake. Charles’ hand was noticeably cold. “Erik Lehnsherr. No need to thank me. It wasn’t that much work.”

An auburn eyebrow lifted. “No?”

“No,” Erik affirmed, levitating the metal cutlery from his plate above them. “Remarkably easy, in fact.”

Charles’ blue eyes widened a touch as he observed the knife and fork dance in the air before them, and then let a wide smile stretch across his rosebud lips. “Absolutely magnificent,” he beamed, clasping his hands. “Telekinesis?”

“Not really,” Erik admitted, allowing the silverware to settle back onto the empty plate. “Just metal. Or anything with a magnetic field.”

“Metalokinesis, then,” Charles said, that smile still a fixture on his face. “Very useful, I imagine.”

“It comes in handy. Especially when some idiot decides that a flimsy piece of sheet metal would suffice as a wheelchair ramp.”

As soon as he said it, Erik was filled with doubt, wondering if his comment would come across as insensitive, but was immediately put at ease and more when Charles laughed. “Oh, that’s hardly the worst I’ve seen. I used to go to a doctor who specialized in spinal cord injuries, and her office was on the sixth floor. The elevator in the building broke for two months, once. I wonder how many of her patients managed to get up there, somehow.

And then, Erik was talking with Charles with ease. Over dinner, he learned that Charles was a telepath and a genetics professor, freshly home from a year abroad. He learned that he wrote his dissertation and several books on mutant genetics and was perhaps the leading figure in that field. He learned that Charles was incredibly intelligent, well-read, and sharp-witted, but laughed easily and liked to banter. Over dessert, he learned that Charles preferred pie to cake and tea to coffee. That he care deeply for his younger sister and held dreams of opening a school just for young mutants one day. 

Their conversation continued all throughout the remainder of the ceremony, the two men sitting side by side drinking wine as the rest of the guests danced. Talking with Charles came with such a comfortable ease, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. Even before Erik could feel the effects of the wine tickling his brain, he grew completely comfortable with the handsome telepath, debating lightheartedly, discussing books they’d both read, challenging each other to numerous chess matches.

At last, sometime after midnight, the guests had all but disappeared completely, with Charles and Erik among the last few. Raven and Azazel had long fled, holed up in some room of the ski lodge, which meant it was high time that they took their leave, too. 

“Will I see you again, Lehnsherr?” Charles said as they waited beside the road for their respective cabs. It was a chilly night, and Erik had lent Charles his jacket upon seeing the man shivering in his chair. 

“You owe me a game of chess,” Erik reminded Charles with a smirk. “And you’ll have to give me my jacket back at some point.”

Charles smiled, wrapping the jacket tighter around his small frame. In the moonlight, Erik noticed how soft his skin looked. Deliciously soft. “Maybe,” he said. “I think I’ve adopted it as mine.”

“Seems fair,” Erik agreed, heart sinking a little when headlights rounded the bend. Their night was officially about to end. “Your cab,” Erik noted when he saw the make of the vehicle. “Can I help?” He asked, nodding at the chair.

Charles eyed the trunk suspiciously, and then sunk ever so slightly. “Please.”

Erik watched as Charles skillfully transferred himself from his wheelchair to the back seat of the car. His movements were sure and strong, competent and competent. For some reason, it made Erik feel even more attracted to him. Prying his eyes away, he felt around the wheelchair for the latch, and then collapsed it when he did, finally packing it away in the trunk.

There was truly nothing left to do to stall Charles’ departure, and the driver was beginning to eye Erik impatiently, willing him to end their conversation. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the fact that Charles’ lips had been absolutely screaming at him all night, but soon, he was kissing Charles, and Charles was kissing back. Hands pulled against his tie, jerking him closer, and Erik found his own fingers knotting through the lapels of Charles’ (or his own) jacket. The exploratory kiss quickly morphed into something more impassioned, their lips and teeth grasping for more, hands tugging harder. After a solid minute, the driver loudly cleared his throat, signaling that it was time for them to pull away.

“I hate weddings, you know,” Erik breathed as he stood upright, admiring the flush in Charles’ cheeks. 

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind about that when you and I have ours,” Charles teased as he beamed up at Erik with those stunning eyes. 

Erik laughed, but his body filled with warmth at the very thought. “We’ll see about that."

And five years later, as the minister pronounced them husband and husband, Erik realized that Charles had indeed been correct, as he so often was.


	17. Bella Notte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue embarrassing dads riiiiiigt now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - sharing food

Charles didn’t remember trading in his sweet, excitable twins for irritable, choleric teenagers, but if he could get a refund, he would very much like one.

Seemingly overnight, Pietro and Wanda had transitioned from his lovely little children into two opinionated adolescents. Suddenly, Wanda scoffed at the idea of reading with him, and Pietro swatted Charles' hand away when he tried to run his fingers through his silver hair. All suggestions and comments were met with snarky rebuffs, eye rolls, and oftentimes, an argument. 

As a professor, Charles was well accustomed to the ill-temper of young adults, but…well, he’d never really thought that he would have to deal with it with _his_ children. Not _his_ babies. They’d only been fifteen for about two months, but Charles felt like it had been years, what with how bloody exhausted they were making him.

If their bad attitudes and foul moods upset Charles, however, they absolutely _infuriated_ his husband. Erik had never been one to tolerate back talk or spoiled behavior—even when the twins were young, he always quickly put a stop to all temper tantrums, needless arguments, and brattiness. The twins had always been allowed to voice their opinions, but sheer rudeness was banned from the Lehnsherr-Xavier household. Erik’s firm intolerance for obstinance and the twins’ firm intolerance for all things authority had created a turbulent environment as of late, and Charles found that he couldn’t wait for this phase to simply end so they could all be friends again.

But, it didn’t feel like it would be ending soon. 

“Ugh, I don’t want _anything_ at this restaurant,” Wanda grumbled as she slammed her menu shut. “Everything looks gross.”

“Since when do you find Italian food to be gross?” Erik replied flatly as he examined his own menu. Charles could feel his husband’s mind already tensing, exuding waves of irritability and impatience.

“Since when do you think you know everything about me?” Wanda snapped.

Before Erik could unleash, coiling like a snake, Charles loudly cleared his throat. “Wanda,” he said sternly, shooting her the _look_. “Don’t speak to your father like that.” Couldn’t they just have a nice dinner out as a family? 

Wanda rolled her eyes, but, as she wasn’t a dumb young woman, decided to heed Charles’ warning. Charles was far more patient and lax when it came to their behavior, and they knew it. “I’ll just get a salad,” she said in a less caustic tone, though there was still an edge there. 

“A salad?” Pietro raised a silver brow. “Is that because Victor said his favorite food is salad?”

“No!” Wanda insisted, but Pietro smirked and zipped his legs up across her lap. “_Stop!_ You’re so annoying!”

Erik’s deep exhale was loud and his face impenetrable as he raised a hand, seized the metal eyelets of Pietro’s shoes, and guided his legs back to the ground. “Enough.”

For a moment, Charles thought that the children were going to challenge Erik, both of their faces narrowing in stubborn scowls. _Stop it._ he broadcast to the twins telepathically, ensuring that his voice was loud and authoritative in their heads. _I mean it, you two. Papa is an inch away from taking your phones, computers, and TV privileges. Please. Stop._

By some stroke of luck (or fear, more likely), the twins listened and didn’t talk back, merely grumbling to themselves and turning their attention elsewhere.

“Oh, do you two remember when you were little ones and you saw _Lady and the Tramp?_” Charles smiled as his plate of spaghetti arrived. “You two always wanted to re-enact the spaghetti scene when we ate pasta.” Charles knew that Erik was aware of what he was referring to, because he finally cracked a small smile, too. “It was so cute.”

Wanda, however, frowned. “You mean the scene where the two dogs basically kiss? That’s disgusting! You let me kiss Pietro? He’s my brother!”

As was becoming typical, Charles immediately regret bringing up the fond memory. “You were three years old, Wanda,” he said, feeling Erik stiffen once more in the seat beside him. “And you didn’t kiss. There’s nothing ‘disgusting’ about it.”

“Seems pretty disgusting to me,” Pietro agreed, eyes rolling. “Do me a favor, Dad, and never bring that up again.”

As patient as Charles had tried to be with the two—he was fully aware that this was merely part of their brain chemistry at this age and this behavior was perfectly normal—he had a limit, too. Something inside him shifted then, and all understanding and tolerance he’d tried to practice disappeared in a cloud of smoke. 

_Want to help me piss them off?_ Charles asked Erik, who had pretzeled his fork into an unrecognizable lump. 

_More than anything,_ came Erik’s reply.

_Excellent. Follow my lead._ The floodgates open, Charles spooled a long piece of spaghetti around his fork while Pietro and Wanda busied themselves on their phones (which they knew were not allowed at the table, at that). Once it was secure, Charles lifted his hand to drop one end of the pasta into his mouth, and then eyed Erik. _Take it. The other side._

_You’re brilliant and evil,_ Erik beamed, a devilish smirk on his face as he craned his neck to capture his side of the pasta. When Charles was confident that they held it securely between them, he gently removed his fork, leaving the pasta suspended between his lips and his husband’s. And just like the twins’ old favorite scene from _Lady and the Tramp_, Charles and Erik began to slowly eat their share of the noodle, drawing closer, closer, closer to each other, eyes bright with mischief. 

“Oh my _God_, Dad! Papa!” Wanda gasped when she finally looked up from her phone long enough to notice that her fathers were sharing a single strand of pasta in the middle of the crowded restaurant. 

“Stop!” Pietro chimed in, a mortified expression on his face. “That’s disgusting!”

Charles simply smiled behind his mouthful of pasta, and a few other diners began to chuckle as they, too, took notice of the two men. Erik smiled back.

“You two are so embarrassing!” Wanda screeched, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my God, there’s people from school here!”

“This is child abuse—I’m waiting in the car.” A gust of wind blew through the restaurant, and suddenly, Pietro was no longer sitting across from Charles, the front door swinging on its hinges.

“Me too!” Wanda was on her feet next in a mad dash for the exit, her red cheeks visible until she disappeared from the building as well.

With the twins gone, Charles bit own on his portion of the pasta and allowed Erik to finish what was left. “They’re going to hate us for that,” Charles chuckled.

“They hate us for everything right now,” Erik said, swiping his thumb along Charles’ lower lip to clear away a stray bit of pasta sauce. “I, however, love you for that.”

“You know, I always wanted to do that,” Charles admitted, pivoting his wheelchair just a bit to face Erik a touch more directly. “And I always wondered how long it would take to finish an entire plate of spaghetti like that. It’s remarkably inefficient.”

Erik glanced at the plate, the impatience that had been rolling off his entire body now replaced by something close to calm. “Want to find out?”

Charles smiled. “Absolutely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen Lady and the Tramp and are thoroughly confused by this fic, take a look at this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nWNXO3CZkU
> 
> Hopefully it'll make more sense! :)


	18. L'hitrahoat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik is a stay-at-home dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 18 - music
> 
> This is....sort of about music? More about Erik being an adorable father. Anyway, enjoy. <3

**_New Message From: _Erik ❤️**  
The kids have the flu.

**_New Message From: _Schatz**  
Oh, just what we need. Which kids?

**_New Message From: _Erik ❤️**  
All three of them.

In his office at the university, Charles let out an audible groan. It always happened this way. They never merely had one sick child—their seven-year-old twins and two-year-old toddler always had to be sick at the same time. In a way it was fortunate; they only had to spend a few miserable days tending to their poor darlings rather than several drawn out weeks as one fell ill after the others. In another way, it was far worse, because they never had a moment’s rest while their entire brood was down and out like this. One child needed to go throw up while the other needed more water while yet another just wanted to be held, the poor thing. 

And, to top it off, Charles always caught bug they were carrying after all was said and done, which stressed Erik out immensely. Erik’s overly robust immunity was countered well by Charles’ fairly compromised one, a side-effect of his damaged nervous system. But, it wasn’t as if Charles could stay away for a few days while the children recovered. Erik would likely go mad trying to care for them all on his own, for one, and also…well, they were Charles’ babies. It was important that he was there to care for them, too.

**_New Message From: _Schatz**  
Of course they are. Did the twins’ school call?

**_New Message From: _Erik ❤️**  
Yes. Lorna started running a fever just after breakfast, and then after lunch, the school nurse rang and told me that Pietro vomited on the playground, and Wanda “sympathy vomited” shortly after.

**_New Message From: _Schatz**  
She’s so empathetic, our Wanda.  
**_New Message From: _Schatz**  
Do you need me to collect them from school?

**_New Message From: _Erik ❤️**  
I just did. I’ve got chicken soup on the stove and Scooby Doo on TV.

**_New Message From: _Schatz**  
Excellent. I’ll be home soon.

As much as it pained Charles to cancel his classes, he couldn’t leave Erik on his own. Brilliant of a stay-at-home father as he was, tending to three uncomfortable, miserable young mutants was not something any single person could do without compromising their sanity.

**_New Message From: _Erik ❤️**  
You’re a saint. It’s going to get ugly in here.

**_New Message From: _Schatz**  
Looking forward to it.

Under an hour later, Charles was home, a bag of medication from the pharmacy on his lap as he wheeled inside. Immediately, Charles was welcomed by the warm aroma of chicken soup (or Jewish Penicillin as Erik liked to call it), and also…by singing.

_"Shalom Chaverim, Shalom Chaverim,  
Shaloooom, shaloooooom.”_

Charles paused in the entryway of their home, momentarily stunned. Erik was singing. Which was something he never, _ever_ did, despite Charles insisting that he had the loveliest voice. Indeed, Charles was astonished by the richness with which he carried the tune, his low, clear voice raising just a bit in pitch, lilting and swaying in the air.

_"L’hit-rah-oat, L’hit-rah-oat  
Shaloooooom, shaloooooom."_

Quietly, carefully, Charles followed the sound of the music and wheeled into the living room, where Erik was holding their green-haired toddler on his lap, singing. Pietro and Wanda were swaddled up in blankets at either end of the large sofa, watching Erik with eager, but tired, eyes. 

“Daddy,” Lorna declared when she spotted him, but remained leaned against Erik’s chest, her cheeks flushed and her tiny forehead beaded with sweat.

Erik, too, looked up and stiffened. It was obvious that he knew that he’d been caught singing, and also that he knew that Charles would be upset that he’d been doing so without Charles there. 

“Hello, my little loves,” Charles said, parking himself by Pietro. Gently, he pressed the back of his hand to his son’s forehead. Feverish. Incredibly. “How are we all feeling?”

“Icky,” Wanda announced, her poor little face displaying her sheer misery. “But Papa’s teaching us a song to make it better.”

Charles glanced to his husband again, who merely shrugged this time. “It _is_ a song that’s medically proven to make people feel better, Charles.”

“Is it?” He asked, unable to keep the smile from his lips. “Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt the healing,” he said, glancing back at the kids. “You’re lucky, you know. Papa doesn’t ever sing for me.”

Charles could practically feel the eye roll from Erik, but both twins frowned. “Papa has the bestest, most prettiest voice ever, though,” Wanda said. 

“It’s not pretty!” Pietro countered through his plugged nose. “It’s handsome.”

“Song, Papa!” Insisted Lorna, always the voice of reason. “Song now.”

_I’ll check the soup, love,_ said Charles telepathically. _If you want to sing without me here._

Erik huffed. _I knew you’d take it personally. Would you rather I not sing to our ill children?_

_Not at all. They’re absolutely enchanted by your voice. I merely wish you would sing more often._

“Papa. Song _now!_”

Charles smiled and backed out of the living room to busy himself in the kitchen, leaving Erik to serenade their little ones until they were all fast asleep. 

And five days later, when Charles was dozing on the sofa with a blistering fever and unshakeable nausea of his own, he thought that he may be hearing a melody in rich, dulcet tones while strong fingers pushed damp locks of hair from his eyes.

_"Shalom Chaverim, Shalom Chaverim,_  
_Shaloooom, shaloooooom._  
_L’hit-rah-oat, L’hit-rah-oat_  
_Shaloooooom, shaloooooom.”_

_ __ _

Through his hazy, fevered reality, Charles smiled softly. “You’re right, love.”

“About?”

“This song makes me feel better.”

A press of lips against his sweltering forehead. “Then I’ll sing it every day.”

“Go on, then."

_"Shalom Chaverim, Shalom Chaverim,_  
_Shaloooom, shaloooooom._  
_L’hit-rah-oat, L’hit-rah-oat._  
_Shaloooooom, shaloooooom._

_Farewell, my friends. Have peace, my friends._  
_Shaloooom, shaloooom._  
_We’ll see you again, we’ll see you again._  
_Fareweeelllll, fareweeellll._" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - I don't know if this song is actually sung in Hebrew-speaking cultures. In America, it's a Jewish kids song/song that you might learn in primary schools like I did, even though I didn't attend a Jewish school. The thought of Erik singing it to his babies (Charles included, as he is definitely one of his babies) just made me smile.


	19. Kleines Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Erik being a grouch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - babysitting

“Explain it to me again, Charles,” said Erik as he pinched the bridge of his nose, just between his eyes. “Your sister adopted a puppy yesterday. And she’s leaving on a two week vacation tomorrow.”

“And we’re babysitting, yes,” Charles affirmed, fiddling with the puppy gate he’d just purchased on his way home from the university. “Help me with this bloody thing, will you?”

“Charles.” Erik’s voice was firm, although hints of exasperation flickered in as he strode toward his husband, who glanced up at Erik with his most innocent, beguiling expression.

“Yes, my darling?” he said, all saccharine as he turned his wheelchair to face Erik. His eyes were wide, as if he had no idea why Erik was behaving this way, and Erik knew that Charles was fully aware of just how damn _cute,_ he was, and how he had Erik utterly wrapped around his finger. 

“I don’t want to look after a puppy for two weeks,” he said. “Puppies are dirty, destructive, and high-maintenance.”

Charles’ sweet expression quickly morphed into something that was part stubborn, part anger. All traces of innocence had vacated, with every corner of Charles’ face hardened. “Raven needs our help, Erik. I will not leave my sister in a bad place because you’re a fiend who hates puppies.”

Erik had to close his eyes briefly in order to regain his patience. “I don’t hate puppies, Charles.”

“You hate Raven, then?”

For such an intelligent man, Charles could be frighteningly daft. “You’re full of logical fallacies tonight, Lieb.”

Charles crossed his arms. “I’m beginning to think that marrying you was a logical fallacy.”

“Probably. I still don’t want the dog to be here.”

“I’ll look after him,” Charles insisted, wheeling close to Erik, evidently ready to change tactics once more. He grabbed Erik’s hand and began to massage his palms, and then kissed each fingertip. “I’ll walk him, feed him, clean up after him. You won’t even be bothered. I promise."

Sure enough, because Erik was a sucker and Charles always got his own way, they had a four-month-old Australian Shepherd houseguest for the next two weeks. Within two hours of arriving at their home, the ball of fluff, who Raven called Harley, peed on the rug, chewed up one of their pillows, and cried out whenever he wasn’t being showered in attention. It might have been funny to watch Charles wheel after the little menace all day long had Erik not been so vehemently against having him there in the first place. Because, just as expected, the animal was dirty, destructive, and high-maintenance.

Erik really did want to let Charles keep his promise. He’d insisted, over and over, that Erik wouldn’t have to do a damn thing while Harley was there, but there were some things that he just couldn’t in sound mind allow Charles to do. When Harley urinated on the carpet, for instance, Charles promised that he’d get on the floor and scrub it out on his own, but watching his husband try to maneuver out of his chair and onto the floor brought Erik absolutely nothing but unease, so he’d ended up cleaning that mess. And then, when Harley abducted Erik’s shoe and bolted into the grass with it, Erik had been the one to sprint after him, ultimately wrestling the loafer from the insatiable animal after a short tussle.

Even at night, when both Charles and Erik collapsed into bed, exhausted from a day of dog wrangling, the beast began to whimper and howl at their bedroom door, the scratches of little nails against the wood growing so insufferably irritating that Erik finally relented and allowed Harley into their room. Within minutes, he’d managed to find his way onto their bed and plopped himself down right between the two of them, in the space Erik usually laid.

“Oh, he just wants to be close,” Charles cooed, scratching under the little beast’s chin. “Isn’t he so sweet?”

Erik had a few other words in mind to describe what he thought of the dog, but merely grunted and rolled on his other side, and then glared at the wall.

The sky was still dark when Erik jolted awake, pulled from sleep by a high-pitched whine. Before he could truly orient himself, Erik’s face was assaulted by something warm and wet. 

“Kleines Monster,” Erik hissed, pulling the dog away from his face. “Can’t you let me be?”

But Erik knew that the animal needed to stretch its legs. Raven wanted them to take him on at least two walks each day. 

“Charles,” Erik said softly, gently shaking his sleeping husband. “Charles, you have to walk the beast.”

Erik didn’t know why he’d expect anything different, but rather than rising from the bed to fulfill his obligations, Charles merely grunted sleepily and buried his face in his pillow. Of course. It was just past 6:00am, a time of day Charles rarely ever saw. 

“The things I do for you,” Erik grumbled, and then sat up to lower his feet on the cold wooden floor. “I hope you like to run, kleines Monster,” he said to the puppy, who was romping about in a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. “I’m not waiting for you.”

As it turned out, Harley did like to run. For so small a creature, he ran pretty well, too, no sign of struggle at all as he darted alongside Erik on his morning run. So Erik didn’t compromise on his route, taking the long way around the neighborhood and through the park. All the while, Harley kept pace with Erik’s stride, his pink tongue flapping through the air as he overtook the ground with his oversized paws.

Finally, the burn in his lungs prompted Erik slowed their run to a stop in the middle of the park, catching his breath on a bench beside the small stream that intersected the greenspace. Harley, too, seemed eager to rest, panting heavily as he tugged on the leash. “Ah, are you thirsty?” Erik asked, allowing more slack on the leash so that Harley could reach the brook, which he drank from for several minutes. When the dog re-emerged, he had a small piece of bark in his mouth, which he dropped at Erik’s feet. 

Erik cocked a brow. Harley panted back. 

Tentatively, Erik unclipped the leash from Harley’s harness, and then tossed the bark a good twenty feet away. 

Like a bullet, the small spotted dog charged after the stick. He overshot the distance by a good ten feet and stumbled a bit, but made a graceful recovery. Proudly, he dropped the stick at Erik’s feet once more, and then sat.

Erik was…amused. He’d never had a dog who liked to fetch before, but the thought was a little silly. A creature who loved to chase after things for the sole purpose of returning them to where they originated was a concept that he found entertaining. Dogs could be such strange animals.

Erik threw the stick a few more times for Harley to fetch. When he grew bored of that, he tossed it high in the air, watching as the dog leapt from the ground like a rabbit and snared it on its descent. “Show off,” he mused, tugging the bark from Harley’s teeth. “I bet you got lucky.”

Harley, in fact, did _not_ just get lucky. He caught the damned stick nearly every time Erik tossed it for him, landing with grace and balance on the grass. His skill display had drawn a small crowd of onlookers, with one young girl offering up her frisbee for Harley’s delight. Sure enough, he was just as brilliant at catching that, too, leaping through the air to snatch the flying disc as if by magic. Everyone laughed and cheered as the dog paraded back to them smugly, greedily moving from adoring fan to adoring fan to collect his payment of pats and scratches.

The show continued on with Harley as the star for awhile longer before Erik realized that it was just after 8:00 now, shocked to see that he’d spent nearly two whole hour at the park with the little monster. Quickly, he bode Harley’s new fans farewell and started off toward home.

When he arrived in the kitchen, Charles was parked at the kitchen table in his bathrobe, newspaper spread out before him. “And here I thought you’d run off to China,” Charles greeted before taking a sip of tea. “Giving the dog a grand tour of our fine state, were you?”

“I had to take him with me on my run, since there was no rousing you,” said Erik as he unlatched Harley yet again. Tuckered out from the exercise, Harley wandered over to Charles and collapsed near his feet, panting all the while. Charles looked pointedly at the dog, and then at Erik.

“We stopped in the park,” Erik said after a moment, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee that Charles had so graciously fixed. “He made some friends. Won some hearts with his tricks.”

“Including yours?” Charles asked, a smile on his face now.

Erik rolled his eyes.


	20. Cumin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - cooking 
> 
> I owe the start of this fic completely to [ofbrothersandteacakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofbrothersandteacakes/pseuds/ofbrothersandteacakes). Thank you, friend! You truly are an inspiration.

It was midday, and Erik was grading papers in his office when he began to feel something unnatural. It hit him like a sudden itch, an uncomfortable tingle on the back of his neck. Somewhere in the house, something metallic was being placed under pressure, the ions beginning to bounce, move, circle far too quickly. 

_Who in the Hell is microwaving metal?_ Erik thought to himself, grumbling as he pushed back from his desk to try to prevent the entire school from burning to the ground. 

Apparently, Hell was here, and his own husband was running it.

“For fuck’s sake—“ Erik swore just as the microwave began to spark. With a swipe of his hand through the air, he unplugged the entire appliance and wrenched the door open. 

“Ah, Erik!” Charles jumped, spinning his wheelchair around to face Erik as the metal-bender levitated a steaming _metal_ tray of lasagna out of the interior. “I had it under control!”

“Clearly,” Erik replied, allowing the lasagna to drop to the table with a small crash. “Microwaving a metal dish is probably one of your best ideas yet, Charles Francis.”

A small flush rose in the telepath’s cheeks, coloring his ivory skin a pale scarlet. “Yesterday, you were cross because I forgot to eat lunch,” he said stubbornly, wheeling himself to the table to observe the lasagna. “Today, you’re cross because I attempted to do just that. I can never win with you, can I, Erik Magnus?”

“No one wins when you burn down the godforsaken house.” In a few long strides, Erik was sanding behind Charles, his hands coming to rest on his husband’s shoulders. They both remained still for a moment, staring at the sorry-looking readymade lasagna in its metal tray. 

“Let’s both cook lunch instead,” Erik decided. 

“Ah, because I’m well known for my culinary abilities.”

“I’ll show you some tricks,” Erik said, and then leaned over to drop a kiss into Charles’ thick hair. “Come on. We never have the kitchen to ourselves—fourth period doesn’t end for forty more minutes. How often do we both have a free period at the same time?”

Erik felt rather than heard his husband’s sigh. “If we both die from food poisoning, I’m holding you liable.

A cursory examination of the pantry and refrigerators (they had five—it took a lot of food to feed a school of nearly 70 children) lead Erik to decide that they’d make a shakshuka. Charles positively balked upon hearing the process, but Erik assured him that it wouldn’t be that bad. 

“Here.” Erik placed a cutting board with aubergines, onions, garlic, tomatoes, and bell peppers on the table in front of Charles. “These all need chopping.”

Charles eyed the array of product distastefully. “I forget, my love. Are knives made of metal?”

“If your life was on the line, and the only way to save it was to properly cut an onion, would you live or would you die?” Erik asked with a cocked brow. When Charles didn’t answer, he placed the onion on its side. “Trim off the stem, flip it over, and then cut it in half.

Erik stood over Charles as the telepath diced the onion, administering step-by-step instructions throughout. It was an interesting position to be in—so often, Charles was the knowledgeable one in their day-to-day lives, offering tutelage and advice for everything from curriculum building to strategic training for their X-Men. Now, Erik was teaching a man with an IQ in the 170s how to do something he’d learned to do when he was seven-years-old. It was…endearing, really.

“I thought you were supposed to cry when you cut onions,” Charles remarked as he made the final dice, admiring his small pile of onion slivers. 

“Not when you cut properly, as you just did,” Erik remarked. “Now, sauté them.”

Charles’ smile immediately faded.

Erik gave Charles a break from chopping, dicing the remainder of the vegetables in a few quick minutes with controlled flicks of his fingers, and explained how to sauté onions as he did. The stove was just out of Charles’ comfortable reach from where he sat in his wheelchair—it wasn’t as if the Professor ever _used_ it—so Erik steadily lifted the chair a foot off the ground to allow Charles full access to their pan. Under Charles’ careful babysitting, the kitchen began to warm with the delightful aroma of sautéing onions.

“Oh, that’s delightful,” Charles announced, poking at the onions with his spatula. “It smells like we’re cooking.”

“You are,” Erik agreed, sliding the minced garlic into the pan. “Season those.”

After explaining how to season vegetables, Erik relayed the remaining steps as they became ready. Charles did surprisingly well and grew more confident along the way, even cracking the eggs onto the top of their delightfully aromatic shakshuka base. It was evident that he was still clueless, requiring double-verification from Erik at every step, but by the time he sprinkled the crumbled feta cheese over the finished dish, he was positively smug.

“Look at _that_,” the telepath beamed after Erik placed the skillet on a trivet in the center of the table. “That looks like it came straight from a cookbook, doesn’t it? I nearly don’t want to eat it because it’s so beautiful.”

“It’s stunning,” Erik agreed with a grin of his own. “We did well. See? You’re not so terrible a cook after all.”

“Go ahead and call me Betty Crocker,” Charles said, and then pushed his plate toward the center. “Dish us up?”

Erik did as requested, placing a generous serving of their beautiful dish on each plate. Both paused to admire the perfectly-cooked egg, beautifully browned vegetables, rich tomato sauce that sat before them, and then, smiling at each other, took a bite.

Erik’s tastebuds revolted as soon as the food entered his mouth. Instantaneously, his tongue was assaulted by an absolutely acrid flavor. It was as if someone had fried a piece of plastic in castor oil, the flavor so bitter and grainy that Erik’s eyes began to water. 

Charles, too, must have been experiencing the same horrific sensation, spitting the food back onto his plate mere moments after putting it in. “Dear _God,_ that’s vile,” he declared as Erik rushed to pour them each a glass of water. “What the bloody hell happened?! That tastes like old tires!”

The aftertaste lingering in Erik’s mouth was so strong that it took him two full glasses of water before he could even try to speak again. “I’ve made this a hundred times,” he frowned, wiping his eyes as he stalked to the counter to surveil their ingredients. “We did it perfectly. Maybe one of the vegetables was rott—oh, _fuck._."

Erik knew exactly what had happened. Nestled among the spices was a small bottle of cinnamon, nearly emptied. The recipe called for cumin, and a lot of it. He’d told Charles to use it very liberally, because it added a healthy amount of spice and earthiness. 

“I gave you the bloody cinnamon instead of cumin,” Erik lamented, his hand coming to his forehead. “For fuck’s sake. We nearly dumped an entire bottle of pure cinnamon into the pan.”

Charles was silent where he sat at the table, Erik’s back still turned. In the silence, Erik began to seethe at himself. His careless, idiotic mistake absolutely ruined Charles’ hard work. He’d been so proud of himself, he’d done so well. 

And then Charles began to laugh.

Erik spun on his heel to find Charles doubled over, hands on his stomach as laughter shook his entire body. They were big belly laughs, pealing warmly through the room, making Erik begin to smile by contagion. 

“I’m so sorry, Schatz,” Erik offered, attempting to school his face back into something more conciliatory. “It was an idiotic mistake. You did so well, it would have been delicious.”

“I’m just….so glad it was you,” said Charles as his laughter died down, wiping his eyes once it did. “God, I’m so glad it was you. This is the most vile thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” he grinned, pushing his plate away. “I would rather break my teeth than eat that whole thing.”

Erik levitated the pan off of the table and suspended it over the trash bin. With a flick, the pan flipped over, sending the acerbic poison to its final resting place. “As would I.”

Ten minutes later, the two found themselves in Charles’ office, noshing on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

“This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my life,” Charles announced after popping the final bite into his mouth. “You’re a true Masterchef, Erik Magnus.”

“I can teach you how to make one, if you want,” Erik teased, reaching up to wipe a stray bit of jelly from Charles’ cheek. “Can you handle it?”

Charles captured Erik’s hand then and placed a gentle kiss in the middle of his knuckles. “I think I’ll leave the cooking to you, darling."


	21. A Different Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - dancing

After his third glass of champagne, Charles was feeling delightfully pleasant and warm all over. The autumn evening was crisp, but not too cold—his wool blazer and the strategically placed heat lamps doing perfectly enough to keep Charles from feeling the chill.

Of course, they all should have known that Wanda’s wedding would be no less than perfect—she had the most incredible eye for detail, and her impeccable taste was on full display. Her wedding guests arrived at the country club in the late afternoon and enjoyed a pre-wedding reception on a well-lit, cosy patio before filing into padded benches on the back lawn overlooking a tranquil lake. A wide, sturdy wooden plank spanned the entire aisle, adding both a rustic touch and accessibility for Charles’ wheelchair, in which he traveled down at Wanda’s side. Erik flanked her other, before she joined her dashing groom, Victor, at the altar.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon when the two were pronounced husband and wife, and, had Charles’ eyes not been entirely clouded with tears, he may have noticed how the sky was painted with glorious streaks of pinks and oranges, casting the most beautiful glow on Wanda’s face. His tears were (nearly) gone, though, as the guests migrated to the reception area. An enormous canopy shrouded the party from the elements, fairy lights and candles illuminating the space in a dreamy glow. A delicious meal was enjoyed, heartfelt toasts were given, and Charles could just _feel_ the love and bliss radiating from both his daughter and his new son-in-law. There was little more he could ask for, truly.

“Doing alright, Schatz?” 

Charles glanced up to see his own husband loping toward where he was still parked at their table. Wanda and Victor had shared their first dance as a married couple mere minutes ago, which had sent a fresh new wave of tears streaming down his cheeks. “As alright as a father can be on his child’s wedding day,” Charles replied, graciously accepting the glasses of wine and water Erik offered him. 

His eyes followed the dancing guests, smiling as he realized that most were either current or former members of school. A very grown-up Sean beamed and laughed as a small team of some of the school’s preteen girls tugged at his hands, vying for his attention. Armando and Alex, also too grown for Charles’ liking, twirled around while Jubilee and Jean held onto the tiny indigo hands of Raven's son Kurt, who looked as charming as a two-year-old could possibly look in a suit. 

It filled Charles’ heart with more joy than he could possibly describe to see all of his students and staff—his extended family, really—here to celebrate his daughter. The school had been such an integral part of Wanda and Peter’s upbringing, and to see that she’d grown up surrounded by the love and support of so many wonderful people made Charles so, so proud.

As if aligning with Charles’ train of thought, Erik wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders. “We did okay, I think,” he said quietly, clinking his wine glass against Charles’. 

“I think we did, too,” he agreed, and rested his head on Erik’s shoulder. “She’s so happy.”

“I don’t have to be a telepath to know that,” Erik nodded. “She’s glowing.”

“She really is.”

The song ended then, but instead of starting another, Scott flicked on the microphone at the DJ booth. “It’s that time, ladies and germs,” he announced with a grin. “Grab your tissues and get your asses off the dance floor, because it’s time for the father/daughter dance!”

And then, Charles’ heart sunk. He knew this was coming. Wanda had insisted to them, over and over, that she didn’t need to have a father/daughter dance at the wedding, but it had been Charles who urged her to do it. He didn’t want his daughter to lose out on a such a special moment because he couldn’t dance. She still had one father who had two (beautiful) functioning legs and who could dance as well as anyone, and it was _her_ day. 

But, it hurt. Quite a bit, Charles was realizing, as the dancers scurried off the dance floor to leave Wanda in the center on her own, radiant as ever in her white gown. Eyes were beginning to turn to where he and Erik sat, eagerly awaiting the moment that Erik crossed the space to share a dance with their daughter. 

“Go on,” Charles urged his husband, and then took a long sip of wine. “For both of us, love.”

Erik stood then, but didn’t leave his side. 

“Will the Magnet Man and the Mindreader please make their ways to the center of the dance floor?” Scott boomed over the microphone. “Your witch of a daughter is waiting for you both, and I’m afraid that she and her husband will blow this place up if you let them get too impatient.”

As a chuckle sounded about the space, Charles frowned up Erik. “Didn’t you tell him that it would just be you?”

Erik returned his frown with a warm smile. “No. Wanda and I told him it would be all of us,” he said, gently coaxing Charles’ chair forward just a bit. “Let’s go.”

Charles’ frown deepened, shaking his head incredulously. “I can’t.”

“You can. Don’t worry. Let’s go.”

Amid cheers, whoops, and applause, Erik used his abilities to pull Charles’ chair onto the dance floor with him. Charles could only sit there, mind reeling, until they met Wanda. Her long, dark hair flowed around her shoulders as she leaned down to whisper in his hear. “I just couldn’t do this without you, dad.”

Before Charles could say anything in return, he was swiftly lifted out of his chair by Erik, held bridal style as Wanda stepped to Erik’s side. She wrapped one arm around Erik and the other around Charles as he was carried, wedging herself between her two fathers as best as she could.

“You two had this planned all along?” Charles asked, dumbfounded. He’d even caught both of them thinking about the father/daughter dance for the past week, and not one of their thoughts had included anything like this.

“You’re not the only one here who can play mind games,” Wanda reminded him.

The music started, and Erik and Wanda began to sway. The movement was all a bit awkward, and it would be hard to call whatever they were doing dancing, but Charles didn’t think he’d ever felt happier in his entire life. Once more, his eyes overflowed with tears as he wrapped his arms around Erik’s shoulders, so overcome with love and pride for his family. “You two are so sneaky,” Charles commented, turning his head to wipe his eyes on his shoulder. “Purposely thinking about another rendition.”

“We learn it from the best, Schatz,” said Erik.

Charles leaned a bit to plant a kiss on Wanda’s cheek. “We love you so, so much, my love,” he whispered.

Wanda smiled. “I know, dad.”

They continued to sway and turn in their makeshift dance for another minute on their own. Peter ventured out to join them as the song entered its second half, finally completing their circle. “Whoa, when did it become a cry fest over here?” he asked, cocking his silver brow.

Charles noticed then that both Wanda’s and Erik’s eyes were glassy, brimming with unshed tears. 

“Dad and Papa are crying because now that I’m married, you’re going to be hanging around them a lot more,” Wanda teased, wiping her eyes as well. “And I’m crying because I feel bad for them.”

“Wow, does Victor know he married a comedienne?” Peter countered, swaying in time with their dance. “Or is he still under the impression that he married you as a charity service?”

“Children, enough,” Erik said, in the very voice he’d always used to put a stop to the twins’ bickering. “No fighting at Wanda’s wedding. That’s a new family rule.”

“Lame,” both twins said in unison, and Charles could only laugh, so beyond grateful to be just where he was—in Erik’s arms, dancing with his husband and children, surrounded by people who held nothing but love for all of them.


	22. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eek, warning for some foulness in the beginning here. It gets better, I promise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - tradition

**_New Text Message From_**_: Mother_  
Have you and Eric bought your tickets for Christmas yet?

Charles’ stomach dropped as he read the message from his mother, a visceral pull deep within gathering every time the woman contacted him. He couldn't believe that it was nearly November already, which meant that there was only one bloody month left until he and Erik had to pack their bags and fly to New York to spend a dreadful Christmas week at his childhood home. The slim hope that they’d be able to avoid this horrific tradition spawned when they moved to England five years ago, but Sharon Xavier had been quick to quash it, guilting them into agreeing to uphold it despite the added stress. 

**_New Text Message From_**_: Charles_  
Erik, Mother. With a K.

_Never mind the fact that his mother had known Erik for a decade now,_ Charles thought with an eye roll.

**_New Text Message From_**_: Charles_  
Not yet. I’ll let you know when we do.

**_New Text Message From_**_: Mother_  
Do hurry. I’d like to know which date you will be arriving so that I can schedule our activities.

All of a sudden, the sandwich Charles had been eating at his desk lost its flavor. His handsome office at Oxford University seemed to cave in on him, everything losing its appeal all at once. Every year, Sharon greeted their arrival with a full program of activities which were specifically designed to make them feel either embarrassed, angry, or uncomfortable. All under the guise of “Christmas fun,” Sharon, without fail, grew incensed any time Charles pointed out that her “Christmas fun” was not so fun.

Ever since his accident seven years prior, for instance, she always managed to “forget” that Charles couldn’t ice skate, hike, or participate in a charity run—things which she never enjoyed doing before he’d lost the use of his legs, mind you. And then in the evenings, she would always insist upon taking them to her “new favorite restaurant,” which, without fail, would offer menus without a single kosher option for Erik. To top if off, her horrible friends would always be about, getting progressively drunk throughout the evening until they got to the stage where they asked Charles and Erik series of utterly inappropriate questions. 

_"So, Erik, you’re Jewish, but you’re gay? Is that considered to me a mortal sin, or is it okay to be a homosexual in your religon?”_   
_”My nephew’s friend is a paraplegic, too, and I heard that he can’t even have sex at all. What’s that like for you two?”_   
_”So your mother still lives in Germany? Cute! What a cute little country, except for what happened back during the war.”_

**_New Text Message From_**_: Charles_  
Can you be sure to plan activities that I can do? And keep in mind that Erik eats Kosher. I’ll send you the list of guidelines again, if you’d like.

**_New Text Message From_**_: Mother_  
You can be so rude sometimes, Charles! You don’t even appreciate the effort I put in to hosting you and Eric, and you expect me to change my entire lifestyle to accommodate his special diet?   
**_New Text Message From_**_: Mother_  
When I’m a guest in someone’s home, I never decline meals or hospitality based on my own prerogative.

Charles grit his teeth. It shouldn’t surprise him, at this point, that she was behaving this way, but her attitude and ability to turn things around so quickly never failed to make Charles’ skin crawl. Before he developed his telepathy, he’d simply thought that all mothers were like his own—cold, judgmental, demanding. He had no idea that most people held deep affection and love for their mothers, and that their mothers held and even deeper affection and love for them.

**_New Text Message From_**_: Charles_  
It’s not a diet for the sake of dieting, Mother. It’s a religious practice. I ask that you respect it.

**_New Text Message From_**_: Mother_  
Well. Will we all start praying in Hebrew before every meal, then? Yank down our Christmas tree and erect one of those giant candleholders instead? All to accommodate your picky boyfriend?

And that’s where Charles drew the line. His mother could insult him all she wanted. Hell, she could embarrass him, subject him to ridicule, are his life difficult. But after all these years, he absolutely could not tolerate her talking disparagingly about Erik. All these years, Erik had been nothing but kind to her, doing his damndest to put up with her antics, biting his tongue whenever she said something inappropriate. Putting up with her for _years_ for Charles’ sake, and for what? Just weeks of stress leading up to their visits and an utterly miserable stay in her completely inaccessible home. 

**_New Text Message From_**_: Charles_  
You know what? We actually won’t be coming this year. Thank you for understanding.

Before he could change his mind, Charles blocked his mother’s contact and set his phone aside, suddenly overcome with a feeling of lightness. Freedom. He was bloody old enough now to stand up to his absolute witch of a mother, strong enough to turn away from those old traditions that did not serve him, anymore. For years, Erik had encouraged him not to feel guilty about not listening to her, reminded him that she was only trying to manipulate him. Only now, did Charles really realize how correct he’d been.

So when he arrived home that evening to find Erik reading on the sofa, all he could do was wheel over and plant a large, grateful kiss on his lips.

When they pulled away, Erik’s light eyes were wide, eager. “And what’s the occasion for that greeting, Schatz?”

“Something I should have done a long, long time ago,” said Charles.

On Christmas morning, Charles awoke to the scent of fresh coffee. Through his sleepy haze, he could feel Erik’s warm body beside his own, although a quick skim of his mental energy indicated that he was awake. “Nngh,” he groaned as he turned over, blinking a bleary eye open to observe Erik seated in bed, coffee in one hand and newspaper in the other. “Morning.”

Erik glanced down at him, a small, peaceful grin stretching across his lips before he leaned over to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Morning, Schatz. Merry Christmas.”

Charles chuckled. After their official declination of his mother’s invitation, they’d decided to keep the celebrations minimal this year. Hanukkah had been a delightful affair at the start of the month, and Charles had bought gifts for all their friends and family (their nephew Kurt was waking up to a brand new toddler bicycle, courtesy of his uncles this morning,) but that was it. They vowed instead to spend Christmas with each other, and just each other, because after so many years of enduring it in unfriendly company, they deserved it. 

And so they did just that. Their morning in bed was prolonged by certain, _ahem_, activities, activities in which they could both participate and enjoy, this time. Just before noon, they dragged themselves from bed and enjoyed a delightful (and fully Kosher) lunch. After they had their fill, they went on a pleasant drive through the countryside until finally making their way back home for more, _ahem_, activities and dinner.

As the clock neared midnight and the two sat curled together on their sofa, a half-finished game of chess before them, Charles realized that the best Christmas he’d ever had. They hadn’t opened any gifts or eaten any candy canes, but none of that mattered one bit.

“Darling?” Charles asked, reaching up to stroke Erik’s hair. 

“Mm?”

“Do you think we could do this again next year?”

Charles could see Erik smile to himself. “I was hoping you’d ask,” he said. “A new tradition.”

Charles smiled, too, and then leaned up to pepper kisses down Erik’s jaw. “A new tradition."


	23. Stranded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - stargazing
> 
> This is RUSHED because the Internet at my house is broken, and I'm writing this at a Starbucks mere minutes before it closes. Apologies for any typos!

“So you’re telling me,” said Charles, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned back into the passenger seat. “You’re a man who can harness the power of the Earth’s magnetic fields, but you can’t fix a bloody car?”

“And you’re a man who has direct access to the most brilliant minds all over the planet. I don’t see you even _attempting_ to fix it,” Erik hissed back as he slammed the door with more force than was strictly necessary.

“You’re an _engineer_!”

“I’m not a mechanic, Charles!”

Charles groaned in frustration then, allowing his head to fall heavily into his hands. Outside, for miles in each direction, absolute nothingness stretched endlessly. Nothing but green fields and rolling hills and it may have been idyllic, had they not been well and truly stranded with no hope of quick rescue. They were precisely three hours into their eight-hour car journey from their home to their cabin at the edge of a placid lake, where they liked to escape every now and the for peace and tranquility. 

Which meant that the nearest proper civilization couldn’t be found for several hours. They’d officially left the last town in their rearview mirror probably two hours ago, and the next one along he desolate country road was at least another hour-and-a-half the other way. So, here they were, directly in the center of nothing, with an unfixable transmission. 

“When can the two truck be here?” Charles asked after a moment of deep breathing, voice low. 

“Two hours,” Erik replied in a mirrored tone. “We’re stuck here until then.”

“Excellent,” Charles grumbled, letting his head fall against the window with a _thunk_. “Just excellent. I knew you should have let me buy you a new car last Hanukkah.”

“What do you want me to do about it, Charles?” Erik challenged, turning his long torso to face Charles properly. In the waning light of day, Erik’s light skin looked positively golden, and if Charles wasn’t so damn frustrated by the entire situation, he may have acknowledged it. “If I could fix the bloody car, I would.”

Charles knew that Erik was right, that it wasn’t his fault. But, it was frustrating to be so helpless. Erik was the one who always got them out of these situations—he had a knack for troubleshooting even the most insurmountable of troubles, always ensuring that they were provided for and taken care of. To hear him say that there was truly nothing that they could do was…stressful. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “We wait, then. Can you get me my book? It’s in my bag in the trunk.”

Erik sighed as well. “Of course. Let me know if you need to stretch or go to the bathroom.”

Charles grimaced as Erik exited the vehicle—the thought of using a catheter in the car was enough to make his stomach turn. On long road trips like this, they typically took breaks in various towns and rest stops so that Charles could give his picky back a reprieve and use the bathroom. It would only be a matter of time before nature called again.

Side-by-side, in the driver and passenger seats of Erik’s broken Mercedes-Benz, the two read their respective books as the sun dipped below the horizon outside. After thirty minutes, Erik flicked on the light in the car, but aside from that and the occasional rustle of pages, complete silence occupied the space between them. 

A good bit after the sky had gone completely dark, however, Erik’s stomach grumbled loudly, a sound so voracious and angry that both men couldn’t help but chuckle in acknowledgement. “I need a snack,” Erik affirmed, and Charles nodded as well. The stiffness in his back was beginning to creep up his spine and tighten around his neck, which meant that he probably needed a good stretch.

“Can you get me my chair, too? I need to move,” he said as he marked his place in his large volume.

Within minutes, Charles was out of the car and settled in his wheelchair at the side of the road while Erik rummaged through their things for the bag of snacks. The night was cool, but not overly cold, a light breeze allowing the long grass to dance ever so softly. As he leaned back in a stretch, Charles looked up at the sky, which was a deep indigo and enlivened by a stunning collection of stars. 

“Erik, look at the sky,” he urged his husband as he emerged from the trunk with a tin of almonds and a pair of energy bars. “The stars look so bright.”

“Oh,” was all Erik said as he tilted his own head back, gaze fixating on the heavens above. 

The two stared above them for a few more minutes, enraptured by the brilliant display of the cosmos above them, until Erik finally spoke up. “Want to lay out?”

It didn’t take long for the two to venture a good twenty feet into the field, Charles’ chair hovered inches above the tops of the grass. Erik had extracted a blanket from the trunk, and with a bit of help, they were soon lying side by side, snacking on their almonds. So far away from any artificial light source, the stars appeared enumerably brighter to Charles than they ever had before. It was utterly pitch dark, moonless, even, but the display above made everything seem illuminated in an unearthly glow. 

“There’s the Big Dipper,” Charles announced, raising a finger to indicate the three extra bright stars in an uneven row. “And that’s Orion.”

Erik followed Charles’ fingers with his eyes, which shone in the reflection of the cosmic glow. “I married a man who knows every constellation in the sky, but can’t fix a car for his life,” he said, shaking his head in faux-dismay. “Shame.”

“At least I know something, mm? You can tell me nothing about the constellations, and you also can’t fix a car. What the hell did I marry you for?”

“The arm candy,” Erik affirmed, and then laced his hand with Charles’ own. “And because I keep you warm at night.”

Charles grinned, and then snuggled closer to his husband’s side. “You do more than that, my love.”

The remainder of the hour consisted of much of the same—Charles pointed out all of the constellations that he could name while Erik listened intently, before launching into an astronomy lesson of his known. Unbeknownst to Charles, Erik had long nursed a private love of space and astronomy, explaining the physics behind several intergalactic phenomena that had been utterly foreign to Charles before. Even after so many years together, Erik still surprised Charles sometimes with his brilliance.

The metalokinetic was in the very midst of explaining how the tails of comets worked when bright headlights dulled the stars above. The tow truck had arrived, they both realized with a start, and before their rescue could pass them by, Erik was on his feet and darting toward the road, waving his hands in the air.

Soon enough, Erik’s car was loaded onto the bed of the large tow truck, and Charles and Erik were squashed in the front seat of the cab beside the surly driver. It was late, and they had a good drive ahead of them before any of them could rest for the night. “You know,” Charles murmured as he leaned his head against Erik’s shoulder. “Perhaps it’s good that I didn’t get you a car for Hanukkah.”

He could feel Erik’s quite chuckle reverberate though his torso as an arm wrapped around his own. “If you wanted to get me one now, I wouldn’t be so opposed,” he said, and then kissed the top of Charles’ head.

Charles smiled and turned his gaze out the window, watching the star-studded atmosphere as it domed them above. “Maybe."


	24. On The Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they arrive home from Cuba, Erik is determined to turn things around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - flowers
> 
> Okay, so...this starts angsty. It gets better, I promise, but a small warning that there's some rough parts to slog through before we get to happiness again. (I'm sorry, I can't help it sometimes :( )

The rose bushes were dying. 

In the foggy freeze of the frigid December wind, Erik saw that the hedge, once verdant and overflowing with elegant red roses, was wilting. The waxy green leaves had begun to dry and brown, evidence of decay, and the petals which used to splay so confident and scarlet were curling unceremoniously on the ground.

The sight of the dying plants on that December morning had Erik stopping dead on his run, his breath white in the air. These rose bushes used to be cared for meticulously by a certain professor, tended to and loved and nourished as if they were breathing beings. To see them in their current state, forgotten and weak, made Erik’s stomach turn as it so often had over these last two months that they’d been home from Cuba.

It was incredible how there could simultaneously be no time at all to do anything and far too much time to account for. This whole business of adjusting to their “new normal” was a full time task, but it also left plenty of room for wandering minds, mounting anger, restlessness. Charles insisted that he didn’t blame Erik—went so far as to asking him to make their partnership official. They were “together,” now. Shared a bed, held hands, kissed. As far as optics went, it appeared that Charles truly didn’t blame him for the bullet in his back.

And yet….

Erik grit his teeth and vaulted his fist into a tree, the rage and guilt taking hold of his muscles involuntarily. As his skin broke, blood running in ruby stream down his knuckles, he stood upright, as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. All his restless energy over these past few months had stung Erik into stillness, but now, he was ready to use it as a catalyst for action. Something had to change.

“Do you know anything about gardening?” Erik asked Hank as soon as he arrived back in the kitchen. It was still early, so Charles and the boys hadn’t risen just yet. 

Hank, back to his bespectacled lanky form, turned to eye Erik with surprise. The two of them weren’t typically in the business of small talk. “Gardening?”

“Roses, particularly,” Erik nodded. “The roses are nearly dead out there.”

Erik could see that Hank understood, then. It was no secret that those roses had been one of Charles’ passion projects, something he’d loved to brag about and admire before they’d all become preoccupied with his recovery. “I think there’s a book around here somewhere."

And so, every day before Charles awoke, Erik made his way through the icy morning to nurse the roses. Everything he’d read told him that there was really quite a small chance of resurrecting them from the dead, but Erik was nothing if not determined. He bought special fertilizer, watered just the right amount, covered them with tarps when the snow came. In the beginning, there was little way of knowing if all his hard work had any impact on the life or death of the greenery, but, as the weeks bled into months, he began to see change.

Early February was when Erik noticed the tiny buds. They were hardly bigger than almonds, oblong and furled tightly among the leaves. The old blooms were long dead, petals swept away in snowstorms and rain, but these new, minuscule little buds….they were a fresh start. A sign of a new beginning, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. It kept Erik committed.

And then, on a balmy afternoon in the middle of March, Erik strode up to Charles as he sat in the library, confident, brimming. “Schatz.”

Charles turned his attention away from his book and offered Erik a small smile that didn’t quite reach his blue eyes. Although he’d been improving, little by little, the telepath still looked too thin, too pale, too tired for anyone’s liking. Recovery, they discovered, was not a straight road, but a winding path full of obstacle after obstacle. Charles was strong and stubborn, so it hadn’t taken long for him to learn how to transfer from his chair to their bed, to wheel himself about. But there were things that were taking him longer than he wished, and Erik knew that it grated at his resolve. He could see it in every movement. 

“Yes, darling?”

“Come outside with me. I want to show you something.” Erik could feel Charles press at he outer edge of his mind, scanning his surface-level emotions to gauge the temperature of the situation. “No peeking. It’s a surprise.”

An eyeroll from his lover. “Ah, because there’s nothing that a telepath loves more than a surprise,” Charles huffed, but shut his book anyway and began to wheel toward Erik. “Outside, you say?”

“In the back garden,” Erik nodded, walking at Charles’ side.

The two made their way through the hallways of the mansion until they were in the sprawling garden, snaked with paved footpaths and scattered with tasteful benches. At one point, Erik knew that the entire garden had been lush and beautiful, a miniature Babylon in the middle of New York state. The neglect had taken its toll on the space, which was now half overgrown, half completely dead. 

“Which way?” Charles asked as they reached a fork in their path.

“Left.” Erik stepped in front of Charles now, guiding the way to the rose bushes. They truly weren’t too far from the house, but Charles hadn’t ventured outside all too much over the last several months, so Erik figured that this must feel like an excursion. 

Upon reaching their destination, however, Erik heard Charles gasp behind him. 

The telepath had stopped in front of a glorious, bountiful rose bush, teeming with plump flowers. The deep red roses were densely packed among the green leaves—denser than they had been before. A light rain had touched down about an hour earlier, so their delicate petals shone with fresh droplets, sparkling in the partial sun. A sweet aroma swirled with the breeze, so strong and powerful that it truly was amazing that something like this could come from nature alone. Well, nature and Erik’s methodical nurture, but nature was the real creator, he would admit.

As Charles balked in disbelief, Erik couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride pool in his chest, feeling, for the first time in a long time, that he’d done something useful for the man he loved. “They were looking a little rough when I started taking care of them back in December,” he said, watching as Charles finally placed his hands back on his wheels and push himself toward the bush.

“Erik, they’re absolutely stunning,” he all but whispered, pressing his face into a bushel. Charles’ blue eyes closed as he took a deep inhale, releasing his breath with a deep, satisfied sigh. “There are so many more than there used to be, even when I was taking care of it.”

“You can thank your French gardening book from the 1920s for that,” Erik replied, and then carefully plucked a healthy, long-stemmed rose from the bush. “Learned a few nifty tricks from that.” With extra care, Erik turned and presented the rose to Charles, whose face was still a mask of disbelief.

Charles took caution of the thorny stem when accepting the flower, examining its intricate delicacy for a long moment before finally raising his eyes to meet Erik’s. “Why?” He asked.

Erik pressed his lips together, gathering his thoughts. “It…upset me, to see them all dying. You were so proud of your roses. They were beautiful, and they were yours,” he said quietly, frowning down at his feet. “I thought, that if I could give them all another chance to bloom….”

And even though Erik trailed off, he knew that Charles understood. He always understood these things, even without exploring his mind. “I’m not dying, Erik,” said the telepath, softly. 

“I know you’re not,” Erik replied, and then sank down to his knees so that he could be eye-level with Charles. His hands rested on Charles’ unfeeling knees, but their eyes met once more, serving as all the connection they needed. “You’re very alive, and very vital. And now, you have a rose bush again.”

The two remained locked in their stare for a good few minutes, accompanied by the ever-present scent of the bloom, before Charles finally smiled. “And I’m so happy that I do,” he said, laying the flower across his lap so that he could take Erik’s hands in his own. “I love them, truly. Thank you so much, Erik. This means the world to me.”

_You mean the world to me._ Erik leaned in and captured Charles’ lips in a long, deep kiss. 

“We should really clean up back there,” said Charles an hour later after they parked themselves in the study, his single rose resting in a tall vase of water. “It’s looking pretty grim.”

Erik glanced out the window as he poured two tumblers of scotch, observing the haphazard growth and decay of the garden. It really was a mess at the moment, neglected and sloppy. “I can get Alex and Sean to start mowing back there.”

“Not just mowing. It needs love,” Charles declared. “A lot of it.”

“I’ll tell them to mow it lovingly.”

Charles rolled his eyes, although there was a smile already brimming. “Let’s go to the garden center tomorrow.”

Erik cocked a brow—it wasn’t like Charles these days to voluntarily leave the grounds. “Of course, Schatz. We can make it beautiful again.”

So they did, all of them. Charles, Erik, Raven, Hank, Alex, and Sean were in the garden every day for over a month. Mowing, planting, fertilizing, watering. Chores and housework had never been Sean and Alex’s favorite tasks, but both volunteered their efforts with gusto, evidently motivated by Charles’ enthusiasm. They all worked, argued, laughed, joked. It was a springtime of new beginnings for all of them, falling into a novel dynamic that, in actuality, wasn’t so bad after all. 

And when, on a warm April day, they all sat on a picnic blanket in a lush stretch of grass surrounded by dazzling blooms, Erik felt for the first time that all really could be okay. Charles was smiling as his head rested in Erik’s lap, eyes closed. Hank and Sean were busy trying to identify the various birds that had come to roost in their garden, and Alex and Raven were locked in a game of war. 

_You doing alright, Schatz?_ Erik asked as he ran his fingers through Charles’ long curls.

_Never better, darling,_ came the confident reply in his head. _Truly._

A soft breeze tumbled through the garden then, bringing with it a sense of calming peace. Peace, and that delicate, hypnotic scent of fresh roses.


	25. Worthwhile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - chess
> 
> I don't...even know what this is??? It is late and I am delirious and I will fix my typos later, I promise! <3

So far as Erik could tell, everyone was wrong. They all said that it would get better, that the first week was the hardest, but by the end of the third week at his new high school, Erik was still as uncomfortable and alone as he had been before.

And it wouldn’t be getting any better, he knew. All the students at this ridiculously fancy private school came from families dripping in wealth. Some were the children of business executives, real estate tycoons, high-profile lawyers. Most were descended from old money, lines of riches and blood money stretching back centuries, probably. Watching them arrive in their Porsches with heavy time pieces on their wrists still gave Erik pause every morning, because it was so incredibly bizarre to be in the same institution as someone whose pair of sneakers could pay for two months rent. 

Moments after he’d set foot into his first class, he knew he’d been pegged as “the scholarship kid.” While he wore the same navy blazer and black bottoms as everyone else, his belt was not made of real leather. His shoes were he same scuffed pair he’d been wearing to temple all year long, and there were no precious metals of any type accessorizing his look (although he often wished there was, as the low metallic hum always brought him comfort). Rather than careening out of the parking lot after school in a low-riding sports car, he walked a mile to the city bus to catch a ride to his side of town. He didn’t live in one of the sprawling estates nestled in the Westchester County hills, but called a small, two-bedroom apartment which he shared with his mother home.

One of Erik’s teachers at his old public high school had recommended him for a scholarship program that granted low-income students free tuition to the prestigious private school. When he’d been accepted on academic merit (he’d always been a top flight student), his mother had been so beyond proud of him that he just couldn’t say no. Attending a school like this would open doors, he knew. Universities would look at him differently. But it didn’t change the fact that Erik was utterly miserable and alone in this sea of affluence.

Well, not _entirely_ alone. There was one girl who had shown him a breath of kindness, though Erik would be hard pressed to label her a friend. She was curious more than she was friendly, really, but she didn’t snigger as Erik passed or make snide remarks about his obvious shortcomings in terms of social value. While Erik didn’t necessarily trust that the pretty blonde was entirely altruistic in her casual interest, he didn’t think she had bad intentions, either. So when she turned to face him in their shared French class that Friday afternoon, he didn’t rebuff her approach.

“So, whatcha doing this weekend?” asked Raven after the teacher had stepped out of the room, leaving the class to talk amongst themselves. “Anything exciting?”

Locking his jaw, Erik shook his head and began to scribble the answers to their (ridiculously easy) assignment. “No.”

An eye-roll from the blonde. “A man of few words, are you?”

Erik rolled his eyes back. “I’m going to temple tomorrow and I have housework on Sunday. More satisfying?”

“No,” she answered, popping her feet across the surface of her desk. “There’s still tonight. You’re all free tonight.”

Erik decided that it wasn’t worth explaining the practice of Shabbat to this passing acquaintance, so he just shrugged. “I’m looking forward to going home and finishing my schoolwork.”

“Ugh, you’re just like my brother,” she said, though the wrinkle in her nose wasn’t entirely in distaste. “Bookworm. He even scheduled his chess club meetings to _Fridays_ after school, and then complained that only a few people come. I don’t get people like you two.”

“Chess club?” Erik asked, ears perked. He hadn’t known that there was a chess club here. At his previous school, he’d attended a few meetings, but quickly realized that his ill-focused classmates were hardly even worth the exercise. It was doubtful that anyone here, too, knew how to actually play, but…well. Who knew?

Raven’s grimace fell into a real frown. “Not you, too,” she moaned. “You won’t meet anyone worth your while in a stupid _chess club!_"

When Erik strode into the classroom on the first floor of their castle-like school that afternoon, he quickly realized that Raven had been right. There were only five other students collected about the space. 

The school was small enough that Erik recognized most of their faces by now. There was the tall, brown-haired boy with long limbs and thick glasses from Erik’s English class—Hank, he thought. And then the pale redheaded freckly boy called Sean from gym, who Erik thought was rather thick. The strongly-built light haired boy who’d bumped into Erik in the hall on the first day sat beside him, and at the end of the row of desks was a dark-haired girl from French class named Angel. 

Facing the row of desks, though, was a boy who had caught Erik’s eye (and metalokinesis) almost immediately, because he was the only student at the school who used a wheelchair. The metal frame of the chair always hummed and sang to Erik as it passed, and sometimes, Erik found himself trying to locate it in the building as a private exercise of his abilities. 

Erik also had two classes with the boy, who he knew was named Charles, because in both of those classes, he was a bloody know-it-all. That impeccably proper English accent was always calling out answers to questions, piping up with comments, engaging in discussions with the instructor. While it was clear that he was intelligent, Erik thought that he was full of himself—who the hell answered _every_ single question the teacher posed?

“Can I help you?”

It took Erik a moment to realize that Charles was addressing him directly, a polite smile on his face. The other four students had all turned to look at him as well, which made Erik shift where he stood. “I was told that the chess club meets here at this time,” he said, his even tone betraying the discomfort he felt at their attention. “And it looks like I was not misinformed,” he added, nodding at the three various boards set up across the desks. 

“You were not misinformed, no,” Charles agreed, his smile widening to show off a row of brilliant white teeth. “Come take a seat, we’re delighted to have you. Your name is Erik, right?”

“Mm,” he affirmed, immediately feeling as if he’d made a mistake as he strode into the room to sink into a chair beside Hank. He didn’t trust anyone at this school—they were all too wealthy and too out of touch to be relatable. Charles’ smile was a front, most likely. A polite front, but a front nonetheless. 

“Welcome, Erik,” Charles said in that warm tone, using his arms to push his wheels a bit closer. “Have you ever played chess before? It’s perfectly alright if you haven’t—Sean is brand new to the game as well.”

He couldn’t help the smirk that quirked at his lips then. “Oh, I’ve played a few times before,” he said, raising his brow at the boy. “Quite a few, actually.”

Charles surveilled him for a moment, and then smiled. “Excellent. You make six, so now we all have a partner. Let’s pair off and play.”

Hank was easy to beat, which was somewhat surprising, because Erik knew that he was smart from their shared English class. His moves were predictable and conservative, and it didn’t take long for Erik to construct a strategy to trap Hank into giving up his queen fairly early on. From there, the road was smooth, and Erik had him in checkmate within twenty minutes of starting. 

Angel was a bit more difficult, though not a true challenge. She was quicker than Hank, but her moves were also more tactful. He fell into one of her traps and lost rook, but after that, he was able to adjust his own tactics to stay a step ahead of her, ultimately baiting her into sacrificing all her defenses until he was able to corner her into a checkmate as well. 

Easy.

And then he sat across from Charles. Since he seemed to be the leader of this whole gathering and had spent the last two games tutoring Sean, Erik expected Charles to be more skillful than his previous opponents, but not anything he couldn’t overtake. It would feel wonderful to walk out of here having made fools of all these rich kids on their own turf, so when Charles made his first move, Erik smiled and steeled himself for a win.

Except….except, Charles didn’t play like anyone Erik had ever faced before. His style was unclear—in the beginning, he’d moved very conservatively, hesitant to lose even a pawn, but after six or seven moves, he randomly allowed an easy sacrifice of a bishop in exchange for Erik’s knight. For a moment, Erik thought that the boy was careless and sloppy, but he could just see in those blue eyes of his that he was calculating, scheming. 

It made it difficult. Charles fell into none of Erik’s regular traps, simultaneously thwarting his bait while setting his own. Once, Erik had fell victim to carefully-constructed ruses, losing a bishop in the process, and that scrambled his brain for a reset. Charles was good. Too good to fall for Erik’s run-of-the-mill tactics.

So, he escalated. Mind whirring through a hundred different scenarios each minute, Erik grew craftier. His traps became convoluted and relied on several levels of contingency, which required retaining so much information in his head at once that he could swear that his brain began to throb, but it started to work. Charles lost his other bishop, and then a rook, and then a knight. Erik lost his other knight and a rook in the process, but he was sure that he would come out on top after this war of attrition was finished. 

“Interesting that you’ve left your queen unguarded,” Charles noted, his voice shattering a silence that Erik hadn’t even realized had been hanging for so long. The other groups had finished their matches and were watching the showdown intensely, eyes locked on the black and white players. “I can’t decide whether you’ve left an oversight or whether you _haven’t_ actually left her unguarded and I simply can’t see.”

Erik glanced up at the boy across from him, noticing now that his pursed lips were very, very red. “Do I seem the type for oversights?”

Those pursed lips smoothed out into a smile. “No.”

After another grueling twenty minutes, Charles finally flicked his king to the ground, declaring Erik the victor of their perilous battle. The onlookers immediately began to chatter excitedly, already eager to discuss and dissect what they’d just witnessed, and Erik couldn’t have felt more triumphant than he did in that moment. 

“Well played, my friend,” Charles beamed, folding his hands on the nearly empty board. “I must say, I underestimated you.”

Erik’s pride roared angrily inside him, but he kept his voice even. “Because I’m poor?” he challenged.

Charles eyed him curiously. “Because I rarely lose. I tend to assume that I’ll beat everyone I play.”

A smile, now. “And I simply do beat everyone I play.”

Those Friday afternoon meetings quickly became the highlight of Erik’s week and remained that way, until Charles approached him at lunch one day and suggested they play then. They did. Charles won. Erik demanded a rematch. So, they had one, at Erik’s cramped apartment that afternoon while his mother prepared dinner for the three of them. Erik won. They discussed the match over his mother’s lasagna.

When it was time to take Charles home in his mother’s car, Erik quickly realized that his wheelchair wouldn’t fit in the small trunk, so he helped it in the car by bending the metal in on itself until it was more compact.

That’s when Charles discovered that Erik was a mutant. And that’s also when Erik discovered that Charles was, too. A telepath. A telepath who liked classic folk and old movies and could name every single poem written by Gerard Manley Hopkins. A telepath who was stubborn, but very kind, who loved his sister and hated injustice and admitted that he hadn’t eaten a home cooked meal like the one they’d just shared in many, many years. 

Charles became a fixture at their table after that. Raven, too, joined on occasion, but nearly every night of the week, Charles parked his chair in their small kitchen to enjoy yet another game of chess and a meal cooked with love. Erik’s mother, of course, was utterly charmed by the boy, dazzling in his manners and his quick wit. She liked to listen to Charles talk about his telepathy, delighting in the fact that her son had befriended another mutant, showering him in compliments and warm encouragement. 

And…and Erik, too, couldn’t help but grow entangled in the telepath’s charm. His first assessment of Charles wasn’t incorrect—he certainly _was_ full of himself—but at some point, Erik had begun to find that endearing. He liked to listen to Charles talk about his random bits of knowledge, hanging onto each word and inflection as he prattled on and on.

It was during one of these long-winded tangents as they sat on Erik’s narrow bed that Erik first leaned in to capture Charles’ lips with his own, quickly silencing the telepath into a hush. The gentle, innocent kiss grew into something more passionate, more needful as their hands began to thread into each other’s shirts, pulling.

Finally, they pulled away for air, cheeks flushed. Erik was sure that Charles could hear his heart pounding against his ribcage, or feel the heat rolling in waves off his body. They stared at each other for a long moment, until Charles finally looked down and laughed softly. 

“What is it?” Erik breathed, briefly wondering if he’d just made a grave mistake.

“Raven always told me I wouldn’t meet anyone worth my while in a chess club,” Charles mused. “I can’t wait to tell her how wrong she is."


	26. Chaos and Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - hug
> 
> It is late and I didn't proofread, but I will when I get my life together! Until then, enjoy the typo-ridden mess <3

No one on earth would ever say that raising a child is an easy undertaking, but Erik was making discoveries of his own about the true difficulty of the matter. 

He and Charles had only been officially (foster) fathers for a week now, but it had, perhaps, been the most difficult week either of them had ever endured. There was no sleep, no quiet breaks in the afternoon for chess games or lazy reading. Their three-year-old daughter seemed to take joy in ensuring that her fathers had no time at all to anything but chase her around—but that was about the only thing she seemed to enjoy.

Lorna’s arrival at their home had been much-anticipated. For years now, Erik and his husband had been trying to adopt a child of their own, facing denial after denial in a string of never-ending excuses. Biases disguised as “eliminating factors,” really. Why would any agency favor a gay mutant couple, one half of which was in a wheelchair, over something that better fit their idea of parenthood?

Erik had just about grown to accept the fact that they would never be able to adopt a child through the typical channels when a phone call turned everything in their lives on its head. A little girl, just three, was being bounced around from home to home. She’d been born with a head of bright green hair, a telltale marker of mutant genes, and had been in foster care since she was six months old. The social worker hadn’t even had time to explain that she was a “difficult” case before Charles had told her that yes, they would take her in immediately, they would have a bedroom and clothing and toys and everything that a three-year-old might need.

So, when the angelic, beautiful little girl arrived at the heels of a social worker the very next morning, she was welcomed into a warm, loving home, with two parents who would love her intensely and immediately. 

The angelic, beautiful little girl, however, had an agenda of her own.

She ran, she screamed, she hid from Charles and Erik. She threw her toys, ripped her clothes, kicked at her bedroom walls. She refused to eat, refused to bathe, refused to speak to them, communicating only in enraged cries or the ever-persistent “NO!” The social worker _had_ said that Lorna was a “difficult” child, but Erik was accustomed to difficulties. A difficult child was still a child. But, all of their years of waiting could not have prepared them for this.

“She’s finally down.” It had been an hours-long struggle to wrestle Lorna into bed this evening, but Erik had finally managed. Well, sort of—she tired herself out after wailing at the top of her lungs for the better part of the evening, jolting about her pastel yellow bedroom to wreak havoc on everything she laid her little eyes on. Erik had tried singing, reading, recruiting Charles to do the same things, but nothing they did stopped her tirade.

“Thank God,” Charles huffed as he wheeled about their war zone of a living room, clearing away the disasters that Lorna had left in their once-spotless space. “Just enough time to clean everything up for our next fiasco when she wakes.”

Erik groaned and sunk onto the sofa, rubbing his tired eyes. A massive cloud of defeat permeated. It had only been a week, but Erik knew that they both felt that they were in over their heads with Lorna. An obstinate child was one thing, but an angry, scared, destructive, reckless three-year-old was something that neither of them had prepared for. “She has to be exhausted. She’s not slept a wink this entire week.”

“She is,” Charles affirmed, tapping his temple briefly. “But she’s terrified and angry. She’s perfectly capable of talking, but she doesn’t trust us enough to communicate with us.”

Erik closed his eyes. “She’s communicating just fine, I think. Making it quite clear that she hates us.”

“She doesn’t hate us,” Charles insisted, although the obvious exhaustion in his own tone was less than convincing. “She’s been bounced around from home to home for most of her life. We have a lot to prove to her. Right now, she thinks we’re just another stop, she has no way of knowing that we’re not going to send her away.”

Erik would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered calling the social worker to start on arrangements for another placement, but he also knew that, by doing that, they would be proving everyone right. So many times, they’d been told that they weren’t fit to be parents, that their various attributes deemed them unworthy of caring for a child. Lorna deserved more, too. Erik knew that she did. Mutant children were far more vulnerable to being failed by their caretakers, and Erik would not allow himself to be part of the problem. 

They would just have to…figure it out.

Not long after Lorna’s bedtime triumph, Charles and Erik fell into their own bed, thoroughly drained from their marathon of child-wrangling. Although Erik had fully intended to enjoy a few moments of intimacy with his husband, his eyes slipped shut within mere seconds of lying down and would not open for anything. 

Except a sharp jab in the ribs, of course. “Wha…?” The pokes to his side kept coming and coming until he moved away from the offender, eyes shooting open to a darkened bedroom. “What is it?”

“It’s Lorna,” said Charles, voice crisp and clear. “She’s having a nightmare.”

Immediately, Erik was on his feet, all tiredness gone from his body. He was out the bedroom door and across the hall within seconds, Charles wheeling at his heels. In the nightlight glow of Lorna’s messy bedroom, Erik could see the green-haired toddler lying in her bed, tiny face scrunched.

“Don’t,” said Charles, stopping Erik as he lifted his hand to shake her awake. “That’ll frighten her more. Let me…”

Erik observed as Charle shut his eyes and pressed two fingertips to his temple. His face hardened in concentration, like he was working through a puzzle or a difficult math problem. 

“What are you doing?”

“She’s dreaming about being chased by frightening-looking men,” Charles answered, eyes still closed. “I’m inserting you and I. I’m now holding her on my lap, and you’re putting a stop to the men chasing her,” he narrated. “Now, you’ve scared the men away and are coming back to us with a kitten…oh. Her brain just changed the kitten into a puppy. I suppose she likes puppies better.”

Erik was perched on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on Lorna as Charles quietly narrated the dream. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Charles fix a bad dream before—he did it when they babysat their nephew, and Charles had even helped Erik conquer a nightmare or two. At first, Erik had been skeptical about allowing Charles to interfere with his brain, but Charles had explained that the actual manipulation was minimal, that merely inserting a character into one’s dream changed the entire sequence, anyway. Oftentimes, the brain worked up the remainder of the dream on its own, veering away from the nightmare without any further interference from Charles.

Both Charles’ and Lorna’s eyes opened then, the latter’s darting about the space for a few moments before they settled on Erik. He expected her to start to wriggle out of bed so that she could begin her next round of destruction, but instead, she continued to stare. 

“Hug?” she asked finally, voice soft and high-pitched, and Erik stilled. It was the first time he’d heard her say anything other than _no_.

“You and I both hugged her in her dream just as she woke up,” Charles murmured, wheeling closer to the bed. “She liked it.”

“Do you want a hug?” Erik asked the little girl.

Her green-haired head nodded. “Hug.”

Gently, Erik leaned over and lifted Lorna from her blankets, setting her on his knee. His arms wrapped loosely around her little body, holding her to his chest. To his immense surprise, she moved with the hug, leaning her head against his breastbone, eyes closing once more. She was warm, like a little heater, and it was only then that Erik realized how tiny and delicate she was. Taking a chance, he tightened his hold around her a bit more until she was securely wrapped in a hug.

At Erik’s left, Charles transferred from his chair to the edge of the bed and smashed his body against Erik’s side. He reached out to run his fingers through Lorna’s long green locks and used his other hand to rub circles into her back where it could be seen around Erik’s embrace. Every now and then, one of them would lean over to drop a kiss onto the top of her head, but for the better part of twenty minutes, they sat there in the calm silence, mystified by the little girl’s sudden acceptance of their affection. 

“She’s asleep again,” Charles whispered finally, although he didn’t stop playing with her hair. “Her brain is calm. She’s feeling peaceful and safe.”

Erik’s heart could have exploded then, but he simply nodded, holding the toddler against his chest. “She _is_ safe with us."

It wasn’t the end of that, Erik knew. One isolated incident of calm didn’t mean that all was perfect, now. The following months saw more tantrums and tears, more defeat and guilt. Their house would likely never recover from the damage inflicted by the stubborn toddler. But, sprinkled into the chaos were an ever-increasing amount of peaceful moments like that, with Lorna eagerly snuggling up to either Charles or Erik for a prolonged hug. It didn’t matter how horrible their day had been or how frustrated Erik had grown—a hug from Lorna always gave reason to pause and appreciate her weight, her warmth, her unspoken trust.

Eventually, the destructive tantrums ceased completely. She began to smile and talk, showcasing her imagination as she invited her foster fathers to play in her make believe worlds with her. Giggles replaced wails, toddler banter replaced persistent refusals, and a smart, sassy four-year-old is who they celebrated when her birthday rolled around the next May.

As she inhaled a large lungful of air to extinguish her four birthday candles with a single breath, four arms wrapped around her body from behind, snaring her in a loving vice. She giggled in her triumph over the candles, and then leaned her head against Charles’ bicep, contentedly watching the smoke curl upward into the air.

Yeah. Erik could see himself doing this forever.


	27. Smoothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - massage

“You should see a massage therapist,” said Erik firmly, frowning as he watched Charles hiss and seethe throughout his transfer from their bed to his wheelchair. 

“I’m fine,” Charles spat through his wince, face still screwed up in a pained grimace. 

Erik’s jaw set, hoping his expression didn’t betray his resolve. “You move around as if you have a board strapped to your back.”

“We’re getting old,” countered the telepath.

“You’re 33.”

“Old enough to be trusted to make decisions about my own body, then,” Charles snapped as he rolled to their ensuite, his tone sharp, defensive. 

Erik grit his teeth. It had been just over a year since the accident, and Charles was doing well. Or, rather, he was doing everything in his power to show everyone else that he was doing well. After his latest round of occupational therapy, in which he finally nailed down his adaptations for showering and dressing on his own, the telepath had been utterly hellbent on refusing any and all forms of assistance, especially from Erik.

And Erik was trying to be patient. His beloved had never been one to impose, more inclined to suffer in silence than to speak out. It didn’t matter how many times Erik insisted that there was no imposition, how many times he loudly projected his feelings around the matter. Charles would not budge. His own therapist (who Charles’ doctors encouraged Erik to see) urged him to honor Charles’ wishes while expressing his own needs, but it was extremely difficult to do so when those two entities clashed in nearly every possible way. Especially when it involved watching Charles struggle or suffer through pain. No amount of therapy would help him cope with that.

Erik didn’t bring up the massage therapy again, although he was sure that Charles could hear it teetering around his surface-level thoughts. Each time he bore witness to his husband make a stiff transfer or attempt to do anything involving flexibility, his mind practically screamed for Charles to reconsider, begged him to at least take a look.

“Tell me, Erik,” Charles hissed one afternoon in the middle of a particularly excruciating move from his chair to the sofa. "Are you really so keen to have another person put their hands on my body?”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Erik could see regret dart across Charles’ features, likely catalyzed by the stab of hurt Erik had clearly projected. Normally, he kept these sorts of feelings clamped down—he _knew_ that Charles was struggling, but it was hard to let things like that bounce off of his exterior. Charles was the only one who could melt him, but Charles was also the only one who could break him, too. Collateral damage that comes with loving another person deeply.

“Erik, I didn’t—“ 

“Roll onto your stomach,” Erik said as he strode over to the sofa.

Charles cocked an eyebrow, and then opened his mouth to speak, but Erik cut him off. “Roll onto your stomach,” he insisted again, and then plopped down on the pouf beside the sofa, waiting.

Erik received a long-suffering look from his husband, but was pleased when the man began the process of turning himself over onto his front. It would have been far easier had Erik been allowed to help Charles stretch his unfeeling legs across the cushions, but aware that he was responsible for allowing Charles explore his autonomy, he waited for his husband to sort himself out.

Finally, the telepath had wriggled himself into a decent position on his stomach, arms overhead and head cushioned by a soft, downy pillow. With extra care, Erik gripped the bottom of Charles’ cotton long-sleeved shirt, waited for the small nod of approval from his husband, and pushed it up to expose his back.

Of course, Erik had seen Charles’ injury site a hundred times, but the knot of purple scar tissue at the nape of his lower back never failed to momentarily still his breath. That was where the doctors had wrenched the shards of metal from his beloved husband, who had been teetering on that delicate boundary between life and death ever since the careless driver smashed into his car at high speed. Smaller pigmented scars dotted Charles’ back as well—shrapnel from the shatters of glass and metal—but they were nothing compared to the raised, silvery twist that still bore intense sensitivity a year on from the accident. 

_Where does it hurt the worst?_ Erik asked telepathically, lightly dusting his fingertips over his husband’s skin.

_Everywhere_, Charles admitted, and then sighed out loud. _Start from my shoulders and move down?_

Erik was no professional, but he liked to think that he might still be able to make his husband melt. So, he placed his warm hands on Charles’ shoulders and began to knead at the muscles. 

Immediately, he could feel the knots furled under Charles’ skin. His muscles were hard, the fascia tightened into smattering of painful twists. _Tell me if I’m pressing too hard,_ Erik implored as he worked at the muscles with his strong fingers. 

_You’re not,_ Charles insisted even as he hissed and curled his fingers under Erik’s touch. _It feels nice._

Erik carefully kneaded and pressed until the hardened lumps had nearly all smoothed, and then moved on to his upper back. _Still alright?_

_Mm,_ came the quiet, calm reply.

That was as much affirmation as Erik needed to continue on, redoubling his efforts as the knots grew both larger and more densely packed along Charles’ spinal cord. Every so often, a soft hiss or grunt would emit from Charles as he dug into those pained muscles, but it wasn’t until Erik’s fingers brushed against the sensitive patch of scar tissue that Charles finally spoke up. 

“Not there,” Charles said, reaching behind him in an attempt to grab Erik’s wrist. 

"Are you sore there?” Erik asked, catching Charles’ hand in his own to gently guide it back to the sofa.

"I’ll be more sore if you mash your fingers into it,” Charles answered, although his voice was entirely free of the stinging malice that had edged it before.

Erik frowned at the raised twist of scar tissue, realizing that his fingers were too large, too clumsy to handle such a delicate area. 

Unless…

“Can I try something?” Erik asked as he levitated the small paperweight from their coffee table, slowly spinning it in the air.

Charles cracked a curious blue eye open, which widened at the sight of the floating metal lump. “Um. That depends?”

“If it hurts even the slightest bit, I’ll stop,” Erik promised, and then curled the metal in itself until it formed a smooth sphere, roughly the size of a marble. Once he was sure that it was completely smooth, Erik dug deeper into the very substance of the metal—a clean titanium—and began to scramble the ions. He bounced them faster and faster against each other until at last, the ball was pleasantly warm to the touch. 

With a thousand times more dexterity than he could ever employ with his fingers, Erik rolled the ball along Charles lower back. It was easy to adjust the pressure in response to the resistance against the surface of the sphere, smoothing away the hardened lumps in the sheets of muscle surrounding the scar. Under the touch, Charles relaxed into putty, eyes fluttering shut once more. It was the most relaxed Erik had seen his husband since he’d been on a heavy regime of morphine, which, at least for the moment, brought Erik a modicum of peace. 

At last, Erik floated the ball away from Charles’ back and let it come to a rest in his own shirt pocket. Before his husband could even think about stirring, Erik leaned over and planted a kiss at the nape of Charles’ neck. _No, I’m not keen on having another person put their hands all over your body,_ he told Charles, lips lingering on the telepath’s smooth skin. 

_In the end, _your_ hands weren’t even on me,_ Charles pointed out with humor in his mental tone. His eyes remained closed and his face remained relaxed, however, and Erik could chance a guess that Charles wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.

_You didn’t seem all too bothered by that,_ Erik replied as he sat back up, but dropped his fingers into Charles’ hair to begin carding through the chestnut waves. _In fact, I would even dare to say that you enjoyed it._

An easy, close-lipped smile stretched across Charles’ face. _I suppose that I wouldn’t be opposed to you doing it again, sometime._

Erik ballooned with a triumph that Charles would not see from behind his closed eyes, but would certainly feel through the electric change radiating off of Erik’s body. _Only if you insist, Schatz._

_I do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There must ALWAYS be a convenient metal paperweight lying around. In fact, it's illegal to write a Cherik fic and not include one.


	28. Unhelpful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - help

It was an unusual thing, to wake up and feel Erik’s warm body beside his own.

Typically, Erik rose long before the sun, his restless energy forcing him out of bed the moment his eyes snapped open. What he did in those small hours was still a bit of a mystery to Charles—he knew that Erik went on a run most mornings, and that he showered shortly after that. Erik claimed that those hours were among his most productive, which was only a _little_ bit insulting to Charles, given that also happened to be the only time of day when Erik was awake and Charles was not.

So when Charles awoke on that Saturday morning to find Erik still curled under the blankets beside him, he knew something was amiss.

“Darling?” Charles murmured through a yawn, reaching out to feel for Erik. “Love, is everything—oh, for God’s sake.” 

In his bleary-eyed reaching, Charles’ fingertips brushed Erik’s forehead, which felt as if hot coals were being lain atop it. When he finally managed to clear the sleep from his eyes, Charles could see that his husband’s skin was flushed and clammy, auburn hair plastered down with perspiration. His green eyes slowly blinked open, glassy and glazed. “Mm?”

“For Christ’s sake, Erik, you’re burning up.” Charles frowned as he pushed himself to a seat and then let the back of his hand come to a rest on Erik’s forehead and was immediately overcome with a deluge of stress. Erik didn’t get sick…ever. In fact, over their ten years as a couple, Charles had only ever witnessed Erik in truly poor health once, and that was after he’d eaten undercooked chicken. No, Erik was like a cockroach. Born with an ability to withstand anything and everything. He was always the one who stood strong while Charles grew waylaid by every flu, every cold, every sniffle.

“Not burning,” Erik murmured as he all but leaned into the hand against his forehead. To Charles’ immense relief, Erik grew slightly more alert as the seconds wore on, that dazed, far-off look in his eyes fading ever so slightly. “Your hand is merely freezing.”

It took some coaxing, but Charles finally managed to convince Erik to make the arduous trek from their bed to the living room sofa, where Charles could more easily tend to his poor, flu-ridden husband. Erik’s coordination was questionable at best, which lead Charles to implore him to take hold the handles on his wheelchair for balance. It took far longer than Charles had hoped, but, at long last, he had Erik sprawled out on their oversized sofa, shivering in his thin t-shirt and boxers. 

“It’s freezing in here,” the metal-bender complained, fingers scrabbling for the throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch. “Is the air on?”

“Of course not, it’s November,” Charles reminded Erik as he scooted to the armchair to collect the thick, warm quilt that Erik usually settled over him in the evenings. Once he was satisfied that the quilt was properly swathing Erik, Charles rolled to the kitchen with a promise to return with hot tea, toast, and medicine. 

As the tea steeped and the toast toasted, Charles realized a few key things. For one, he didn’t have his slippers on—Erik usually located wherever Charles had shucked them the day before and set them on his footrests in the hours prior to Charles waking. Secondly, he had no idea where his own blanket was—the navy blue one he typically kept draped over his lower body. That was another object Erik usually found and set out for Charles.

In fact, there were many things that were not in their typical places this morning—his morning paper, his favorite teacup, the butter. Usually, by the time Charles wheeled himself out of bed, all of these things were easily-accessible and ready for him to use. 

Hmm. So, _that’s_ what Erik did all morning. Interesting. Charles just adored learning new things.

After Charles successfully coaxed a slice of toast, the aspirin, and half of the mug of tea into Erik, he allowed the man to sleep and set off to locate his missing blanket and slippers. Nearly an hour of searching finally yielded success (although Charles never would have guessed that he’d left his slippers in the den). Plus, Erik had, apparently, washed and dried his blanket at some point, so that was folded neatly in the laundry room, too.

All throughout the morning, Charles began to realize how much more…difficult, everything was with Erik out of commission, and not just household difficulties. As he read through his book, he found himself wanting to throw some ideas at Erik, instigate a hearty analytical debate over the key philosophies the story explored. When he couldn’t remember the name of _that_ movie, the one with the woman from that show they used to watch, it felt like a personal affront that Erik was _still_ soundly asleep and unable to fill in his memory. And when he finally worked up the motivation to haul himself down the block for a quick grocery store visit, Charles found himself caught in a torrential downpour that, nearly instantly, soaked through his light jacket and shirt, causing the fabric to cling to his skin. Erik, most assuredly, would have wrapped him in a rain coat and equipped him with an umbrella.

Annoyed as he may become at Erik’s “fussing,” Charles now had no choice but to admit that all of that help made his life immeasurably better. So much of it was done without a conscious thought—Charles had grown accustomed to things simply being where he needed them. He’d taken Erik always being present as a given. Ever since his accident several years before, Charles had taken it upon himself to outwardly resist all offers of help unless he absolutely needed it. All the while, Erik had been covertly giving it. 

A sly man, he was.

Erik didn’t wake again until early evening. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and Charles remained parked at Erik’s side, fingers aimlessly working through the German’s thick hair. “There he is,” Charles greeted, marking his place in the book on his lap. “Did we enjoy our beauty rest?”

Even as he yawned, Erik rolled his eyes, stretching just a bit where he lay. “As if I needed beauty rest,” he countered in groggy voice. “I don’t feel as horrific. Hungry…are you _cooking?_”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve no intention of poisoning us both with my cooking. It’s a readymade soup from the market,” Charles promised with a grin. “Let me go get it. What else?”

Erik visibly relaxed at the news that he was not being subjected to one of Charles’ culinary creations. “Water would be welcome.”

“You’ve got it.” But before he spun his chair around to head to the kitchen, Charles leaned down to plant a delicate kiss on Erik’s cooling forehead. “I owe you a bit of thanks.”

“For what?” came Erik’s reply. “I’ve done absolutely nothing all day.”

Charles smiled and pushed a few stray locks of auburn hair away from his husband’s forehead. “Believe me, my love. You have."


	29. Fighting Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably not the correct kind of pride, but....enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - pride

“It’s really, really not that bad, Erik,” said Charles, tapping his armrest impatiently. “Can you just get in it so we can go inside?”

Erik looked horrified, caught between anger, shame, and disbelief as he remained in the car. His passenger door was open, but he made no indication that he was ready to move. 

_”Erik.”_

“I’m bloody coming,” he grumped then, face mashed into a frown as he levitated his own wheelchair from the trunk of the car and set it before him. Once it was there, at his side, he looked lost again, bringing his eyes back up to find Charles’ own.

“You’ve seen me do it a thousand times, love,” Charles encouraged, slotting himself beside Erik’s chair. “Use your arms and your other leg for balance, easy does it.”

It took a good bit of maneuvering (and an even larger bit of swearing), but at long last, Erik had transferred himself from the car and into the wheelchair, his plaster-covered leg outstretched before him. Only his toes remained exposed, pathetic and bare as they poked through the fleece-lined opening of the cast that stretched from mid-thigh and down.

“I hate this thing,” Erik grimaced once he was settled in his chair.

“You’re funny sometimes, darling,” Charles replied in a clipped tone, skillfully zipping around to lead the way into their house. “Come on. It’s freezing out here.”

Of course, blessed as he was with his mutation, it was no trouble at all for Erik to scoot up the shallow ramp covering their front steps—Erik’s metal wheels moved of their own accord while his arms remained crossed over his lap. All the months of practice and refinement that it had taken Charles to pop himself over the lip of their door were entirely lost on Erik, who merely floated himself an inch from the ground without even batting his eye. 

Now, Charles wasn’t a spiteful man—he didn’t _want_ this experience to be any more difficult for Erik than it already was. But, he also wasn’t an angel, and so he was not entirely immune to the ill temptations of _schadenfreude_ every now and again. Maybe he could find a wooden wheelchair for Erik to use.

_Especially_ because Charles had warned Erik not to go on his silly run that morning. The rain had been torrential, pouring down in sheets of icy misery. The scenic dirt path along the river bank where Erik usually ran had been reduced to a muddy hazard, slippery and dangerous. _I’ll be fine, Charles,_ Erik had insisted as he pulled on his bald shoes. _I’m a gazelle._

Apparently, not even gazelles were immune to nature’s course, as Charles’ pleasant morning tea was cut short by a phone call from his own gazelle. He’d slipped at an unfortunate point along the trail, skidded into a shallow ravine, was “trying to come back home but my leg won’t bloody work, Charles!” 

Unfortunately, Charles’ wheelchair hadn’t been built with off-road rescues in mind, so he’d immediately enlisted Azazel to retrieve his poor husband. The teleporter hadn’t been delighted to leave his poolside holiday in Majorca for the purpose of extracting an injured Erik from a murky New York forest, but he was a better friend than any of them deserved. A sulphuric puff of smoke briefly preceded their appearance, with another announcing his immediate departure, leaving a muddy, soaked, and agonized metal-bender to hiss and seethe on the kitchen floor.

Several x-rays and a night in the hospital later, and they were home once more, Erik’s leg broken in four places and a prognosis of eight long weeks in a cast to look forward to. Most of the weeks would be spent on crutches, but the doctor prescribed at least a week and a half of strict elevation, which meant that he was stuck in wheelchair for the time being. 

Erik was in pain, Charles knew that. The breaks were ugly—horrific, really—and Charles really did hate that Erik was experiencing so much discomfort. But he also knew Erik felt something else, something that he only began to feel when the nurse presented Erik with a wheelchair that he was to use for the next few weeks. 

Shame.

His pride was completely diminished, shot to zero. Charles hadn’t known how truly precarious it had been before, but the fact that it had toppled so easily made Charles feel…uneasy. For many, many years, Charles had been reconciling his own pride with all the assistance he required. And he always assured by Erik that needing help should not be cause for low self-esteem, because needing help was okay, and Erik was happy to give it. 

For the most part, Charles believed him, these days. Erik was always his biggest supported, always there to shower him in praise for his triumphs. Some days were more difficult than others, but all in all, Charles was okay.

So, it hurt, to see Erik so agonized over needing help. After all their talks about this very subject, the promises that Charles’ wheelchair and disability didn’t influence his competencies, Erik couldn’t heed his own words. How could he have truly meant what he said, then? Did that truth really come from Erik’s soul, as he claimed?

“I’ll make you some coffee,” Charles said finally, once they were both planted in the living room. Admittedly, it _was_ weird to see Erik in a wheelchair like this, seated beside the sofa. Unless Charles planned to stay put for awhile (in which case, he’d make the transfer to the sofa), he typically parked his chair in the very spot Erik had placed himself. It was the natural place to go, really, where one might purposefully place an armchair should there be a need for one. With Erik there, Charles nearly felt like couldn’t stay in the room as he was.

“I can make coffee,” Erik countered.

“I know you can. I’ll still make you some coffee,” Charles replied tightly as he turned around to push himself out. He returned minutes later with two steaming mugs of coffee and tea skillfully balanced on a tray over his legs. 

“I never understood how you do that,” Erik observed through his foul mood, eyeing the display on Charles’ lap. “If I tried that, everything would spill.”

“The tray is metal,” Charles pointed out, handing Erik his mug before taking his own between his palms. “You wouldn’t spill a drop.”

Erik’s frown deepened as he regarded the coffee in his hands, jaw setting. “You can’t do anything with metal and _you_ don’t spill,” he said, almost petulantly. “I don’t get it.”

Charles frowned as well. “Would you rather I spill scalding liquid on myself?”

“Of course not. That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then? Is there a point?” Charles all but spat, frustrated by the conversation, by Erik’s entire countenance on the matter.

The metal-bender scowled at his plaster-encased leg. “You’re so good at all of this. Car transfers, pushing yourself around, managing your adaptations,” he said, not lifting his eyes. “You make it look easy. Beside you, I look like an absolute dunce. If this all wasn’t made of metal, I wouldn’t have any idea what to do.”

“But it is metal.”

“And if it wasn’t, I’d be absolutely hopeless,” Erik grunted, finally lifting his eyes to meet Charles’ own. “I’m…not like you. You’re an alien, Charles, I always swear that. You take things in stride and figure out solutions and it’s infuriating, because you keep the bar so high.” A narrowing of those eyes as they cast down again. “I merely wish that I had a shred of the strength that you do.”

And just like that, all off Charles’ annoyance and discomfort melted away. Instead, a flood of warmth filled his body, fanned by the pride and love that always blossomed when Erik spoke openly about his feelings like this. He quickly set aside his mug of tea and slotted himself beside Erik once more, wrapping his arms around his husband’s torso. 

“Oh, love,” he murmured, kissing Erik’s cheek. “Sweetheart, I’ve had _years_ of practice using this thing. You remember how much I struggled in the beginning. I had you levitate me everywhere.” He squeezed tighter. “You know that you’re extremely strong, don’t you? In your many brilliant ways. Even if your pride is hurt right now.”

Erik sighed then, but he allowed his head to come to a gentle rest on top of Charles’ own. “My pride is only hurt because, for the very first time in the history of time, you’re better than me at something.”

Charles scoffed in faux-anger, but rubbed at Erik’s good thigh. “Those are fighting words, Erik Lehnsherr.”

Erik placed his hand atop Charles’ own. “How do you want to battle this out?”

Lacing his fingers with Erik’s, Charles smirked. “Wheelchair race, no mutation. You get a ten second head start.”

A kiss finally landed on Charles’ cheek, augmenting the warmth and love he felt emanating from Erik’s brain. “Winner gets to use the lowered bathroom sink tonight.”

Charles beamed. “It’s on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an earlier conversation about Erik being salty about having to use a wheelchair at some point in his life. <3


	30. Always Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - family
> 
> This....this is all cheese. Wowza, prepare yourself!

The very best day of the week, in Charles’s fine opinion, was Friday. Not because he preferred his Friday classes to his Wednesday classes, nor was it due to the fact that he typically brought sushi for lunch. No, Charles favored the final weekday because that was when he got to finally head home after school with his best friend to begin their two-night sleepover.

It had become their routine about a year ago, when Erik’s mother insisted that Charles stay the night after he’d come for dinner, and then she insisted he come back on a frequent basis after learning that he typically was all alone in his massive house every night. Apparently, the thought of Charles entirely bereft of human contact upset Edie enough to open her home to him for nearly half of the week.

Charles had refused her hospitality at first—he just couldn’t impose on that way. However, a quick scan of her kind projections informed him that she really, truly wanted him around. For some reason, she nursed a soft spot for her son’s friend, and Charles was ever the grateful one for it.

So, he’d been spending a lot of time at the Lehnsherr apartment. He took meals with them, went to temple with them, participated in their weekend activities. Erik slept on the sofa in his bedroom, always imploring Charles to take his narrow twin bed for fear of wrecking his back. It had all made Charles feel a bit selfish at first, but eventually, he began to see that these people, the entire Lehnsherr clan, were simply good people who cared about him. A second family.

Erik was already waiting at his rusty old beater of a car when Charles wheeled out after school on Thursday, leaned against his door. In the the swath of fleeing students, Erik stood well out—he was taller than average with broad shoulders, fair skin, and striking light eyes. His auburn hair was long enough to curl just slightly at the ends, bringing a bit of boyishness to his mature visage. There was a silent agreement among the student body of their high school that Erik Lehnsherr was the best-looking out of their whole lot. 

With that agreement came a question as to why he spent all his time with Charles. As the only student at their school who used a wheelchair for his primary mode of mobility, Charles, by default, did not fit the bill of someone who should be friends with the likes of Erik. The chair was the impenetrable object that blocked Charles from breaking into most social circles, the force that kept him alienated. To a good majority of their classmates, their friendship seemed odd and ill-fitting. Charles was wealthy, Erik was not. Charles was a teacher’s pet, Erik was not. Erik was tall and athletic, Charles was not. Many things about them felt mismatched.

And yet, as soon as Erik could sense the metal of Charles’ chair in his vicinity, his face lit up, unfreezing out of its resting serious countenance into something warm. Charles grinned back, always overcome with delight at this point in the week. Until Sunday afternoon, he didn’t have to acknowledge all of the things that were causing him stress—these two wonderful days he got to enjoy with Erik and the Lehnsherrs were always such a delightful reprieve. 

“How’d your Biology exam go?” Charles asked once he was seated in the passenger seat, his chair packed away in the trunk.

“It would have gone better had you helped me when I asked,” Erik retorted as he turned the engine over. “Did you not hear me screaming for you?”

“Cheating is wrong, Erik,” Charles tutted, but smirked. “And you chose the write answer, anyway. You’ve no reason to worry. Can we get food?”

Erik glanced at the clock briefly as he pulled out of the school parking lot. “Later. We have to get home to Ma.”

Charles’ stomach twisted. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. Ma just needs us home.”

Erik quickly changed the subject then. It was a sign of how much Charles truly respected his friend that he did not immediately dive into Erik’s mind to figure out why in the world Edie needed them home immediately after school, as this was not typical. His body was shot with worry as his brain ran through a litany of terrible scenarios. Was she ill? Were they moving away? Did she want Charles to stop hogging up all their weekends with his presence? The knot in his stomach didn’t unravel as they stopped by the middle school to pick up Erik’s younger sister, Ruth, and it only tightened as the car pulled into their designated parking space at the apartment complex.

In true Lehnsherr fashion, Ruth gave nothing away either, chatting idly about her classes and some upcoming school dance as she strode alongside the two of them. Erik’s mind was quiet and guarded, as if he knew Charles would be lurking on the edge of it, waiting for any stray projections, which had Charles certain that something was brewing beneath the surface.

As Erik pushed open the door, a warm aroma of a freshly-baked delight greeted them all. After several days of being away from the Lehnsherr’s home, Charles was always surprised by how calming it was to be welcomed home with a homemade dish. Even if his own mother could put down the bottle long enough to locate the kitchen, Charles doubted that she would ever care to attempt to cook. The in-house cooks did pull together some tasty meals and Charles could hardly complain about having private chefs, but there was something much different about a meal cooked with love. Something wonderful.

“Close the door, Spatz, it’s icy out there!” Edie implored as she bustled from the kitchen, apron still slung over her front. Once Erik had done as he was bode, a warm smile stretched across her face, a smile which never failed to make Charles grin in return. “I’m so glad you’re home. We have something to show you, Charles.”

Charles’ smile and cosy feeling quickly iced over. This couldn’t be good—what could they possibly show him? Medical test results? A deed to a house in a far off city? His hands felt cold as they curled over his wheel rims, knuckles whitening. “Is everything alright?” he asked again, but this time, his voice was choked.

“Just fine, Mein Süßer,” Edie assured Charles, beckoning them down the hall. “Come on.”

Charles, accompanied by Erik and Ruth, followed Edie across the living room and down the narrow hallway, off of which all of the Lehnsherr’s bedrooms were situated. He was certain that his three companions could her his heart thudding against his ribcage, anxiously beating in time with his racing thoughts. At the end of the hallway, Edie waited for the teens to gather outside of the small box room where the family stored their miscellaneous items, and, after a smile-filled pause, pushed the door open.

Charles glanced inside the tiny room, surprised to find that it wasn’t stacked with boxes, bins, and crates any longer. Instead, a twin bed was pushed up against the far wall, with a dresser across from it. Beside the bed, there was a small desk without a chair topped with a lamp, several writing utensils, and even a potted plant. The space was most certainly tight, but it was cosy, too, and inviting. 

It took Charles several moments to realize what he was being shown. A bed. A dresser. A desk without a chair. Was this…._oh_.

Of its own accord, Charles’ mouth fell open, eyes immediately swimming with tears. “Ms. Lehnsherr, is this…”

“For you, Mein Süßer,” she finished, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “So you can stay whenever you’d like or need. We want you to feel at home here.”

The tears fell in earnest then, clouding his vision entirely. He didn’t think he could ever feel more grateful or humbled than he did right now. The fact that his own home had an inordinate amount of bedrooms and he was _still_ being given a space to call his in the Lehnsherr’s modest apartment was beyond what Charles deserved. 

“I…I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, wiping his eyes once he’d contained himself enough to speak.

“Say you’ll stay in it,” Erik offered, placing his own hand on Charles’ other shoulder, strong squeezing ever so slightly. _Really, Charles. We want you to._

_I can’t accept it,_ Charles replied wildly, resisting a sudden urge to rest his cheek against Erik’s arm. _This is too much, Erik. I could never impose like that._

_You’re not imposing,_ came Erik’s firm voice in his head, hand traveling to rub gentle circles into Charles’ upper back. _You’re family._

Charles’ eyes filled up once more, and it took him a long while to regain any semblance of composure before he could tell them that, yes, he absolutely would love to stay in his little bedroom, and that yes, he was so, so thankful to have them all in his life, and that yes, he loved them all so very much, too.

Edie’s own eyes were flooded with tears as she bent down to wrap Charles in a warm embrace. “I’m so glad you’ll stay,” she said softly. “You’re family."

Nearly a decade later, as Charles and Erik were moving into Charles’ long-abandoned childhood home, the telepath threw open the double doors of the largest, most beautiful bedroom in the entire manor. 

“Is this to be our bedroom?” Erik asked his husband as he appeared at Charles’ side, observing the glorious space before them.

Charles shook his head no before leaning to rest it against Erik’s side. “I think we should leave it open. In case your mother ever needs or wants to move in.”

Erik smiled softly and reached down to close his arm around Charles’ shoulder. “That’s sweet of you, Schatz, but you don’t have to make that kind of sacrifice.”

“It’s not a sacrifice,” Charles insisted. “She’s family."


	31. Sugar High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the ever so lovely [Nalou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalou/pseuds/Nalou)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 - Halloween

Erik never should have allowed Charles to be alone with the kids.

He had been firm about their candy quotas—no more than three pieces each after 7:00pm. Even without sugar, Pietro was difficult to tame in the evenings, his boundless energy exploding out of his little body in spurt after spurt until he finally lost steam. For that reason, Erik tried his very best to keep added sugars out of his diet, which wouldn’t be so difficult if his husband was not an absolute traitor.

Erik had been out of the living room for _ten minutes_ to bathe the baby and scrub the kitten whisker face paint from her cheeks, and upon his return, his elder two children were busy demolishing their Halloween candy hauls. A small sea of wrappers littered the living room floor and a spread of chocolate residue remained on their cheeks as they scarfed down sweet after sweet with reckless abandon. And when a horrified Erik looked to his husband for any sort of explanation as to why his strict limits had been so egregiously violated, he was met with the sight of Charles himself enjoying a small pile of chocolates, too.

That was two hours ago. Now, as the clock reached half past nine, Erik wasn’t sure that his six-year-old twins would ever settle. Pietro, still in his mummy costume, traversed their home at inhuman speed, nearly running _up_ the walls at times. Wanda, dressed as a butterfly, was experiencing a sugar high of her own, giggled and sang and hopped after her brother, only stopping to do the perform the occasional cartwheel or somersault in the middle of the living room. It was an utter madhouse, the Lehnsherr-Xavier home, and Erik was growing increasingly aggravated.

Especially because….well. This year, Charles, his traitorous husband, had surprised him. Unbeknownst to Erik, Charles had dug out an old magenta outfit from the attic at some point, complete with a cape, boots, gloves, and metal helmet. While Erik readied their three children for a night of trick-or-treating, Charles had slipped into the get up and wheeled himself into the living room with no fanfare. 

“Whoa, Daddy!” Pietro had cried as he charged out to observe Charles’ outfit. “What’s your costume?”

“This is the costume that my very favorite super villain used to wear,” Charles had said with a smile in his voice. “Do you like it?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Wanda. “It’s pink!"

Erik thought he might faint when he first realized that Charles was wearing his old uniform. It had been almost a decade since he’d hung it up for the last time, committed to leaving his days as Magneto behind him in favor of something more…domestic. Seeing it on Charles felt very wrong, as it stood for everything that Charles was against, everything that had caused what seemed an insurmountable wedge between them. And that helmet that sat on his knees had threatened to end them entirely.

And yet, there was something deliciously captivating about it all, too. Maybe it was Charles’ coy smirk, or maybe it was the fact that Charles’ chest and shoulders filled out the tight top _just so_. The taboo of the entire thing stoked at something deep within, and Erik wanted nothing more than to lay Charles out on their bed and tear every inch of fabric from his body.

But, that would be impossible if their children never went to sleep. “Schatz,” Erik grumped as Pietro and Wanda narrowly avoided a collision beside the piano. “Look what you’ve let them become. They’re like animals.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” Charles admonished without taking his eyes from the heavy volume had spread over his magenta-covered legs. “They’re children on Halloween. Let them enjoy it.”

“They’re children on Halloween up far past their bedtimes,” countered Erik, grimacing as he watched Wanda somersault directly into the legs of the ottoman. “How keen are you to deal with two grumpy mutants tomorrow morning?”

“I typically deal with one large one, so, I doubt two small ones will blindside me all too much, my love,” Charles quipped.

Erik grit his teeth. It had been several hours now since he’d first laid eyes on Charles in that suit, and, in his humble opinion, that was far beyond what could be expected of him to tolerate. The telepath looked distressingly gorgeous, and it had been hard to focus on much else all night long. Charles had to know, too—Erik was certain that he’d projected a fair amount of his carnal desires. Perhaps that’s why his vixen-like grin hadn’t left his lips. 

It was becoming desperate, now. The clock ticked, the children rampaged. Erik’s patience and control was at a critical low. Charles wasn’t budging, either, seemingly content to remain parked in his chair with his book, collected as ever. 

Reassuring himself that he was only resorting to such a low because Charles was forcing this upon them both, Erik finally levitated the still dusty helmet from where it sat on the end table, observed it briefly, and then settled it on his head. 

Immediately, as if Erik had screamed out loud, Charles snapped his head at attention. He could see those blue eyes darken momentarily, and then settle with a knowing squint. Erik stared back at his husband. They did not need to ride the waves of their telepathic link to understand each other’s silent words, this time. It was mutually clear. 

“Pietro, Wanda,” Charles said at last, shutting his book with a thump. “It’s time for bed, my little loves.”

“But, Daddy! I’m not even tired!” Pietro called as he continued to zip about the space, rustling curtains as he went. 

“Me neither!” Wanda agreed from where she was sprawled across the sofa. “I wanna stay up forever!”

“Oh, I know you do, my darling, but we all have to go to sleep. How will you grow big and strong if you don’t get your rest?”

“Uncle Hank is the biggest and strongest person in the whole wide world, and you telled us that he _never_ sleeps!” Pietro pointed out as he screeched to a halt beside Charles’ chair, a gust of wind making the telepath’s long hair sway. “We don’t need sleep!”

It was one of those moments where Erik was swiftly reminded just how powerful Charles was. Hardly a second passed between Pietro’s confident declaration and his swift collapse into Charles’ lap. Wanda, too, had gone limp on the sofa, suddenly thrown into a deep sleep. 

“You can take that silly thing off, now,” said Charles calmly as he picked the sleeping Pietro up to drape him across his his chest. “I knew I should have left it in that box.”

Erik let the helmet float off of his head as he moved to observe Wanda, and then collected her in his arms. He didn’t know whether he should be horrified or impressed that Charles had just knocked their two children out without batting an eye, but he couldn’t deny the marvel either way. “I must have skipped that chapter in the parenting book,” Erik remarked as he held Wanda close to his chest. 

“You drove me to do it.” Charles lead the way out of the living room and down the hallway toward the twins’ room with Pietro still slumped against his body. “And, anyway, I’m not truly altering anything in their heads. Their brains _want_ to sleep. I merely allowed them to do so. Seems I’m eager to live up to my costume’s inspiration, however.”

Erik glanced down at his husband with a cocked brow, though he could not hide the budding smirk as it twitched at his lips. “I imagine that your ‘favorite super villain’ might be impressed. If he was still around, that is.”

Charles nodded solemnly as he tucked Pietro into bed. “It’s almost a shame that he isn’t.”

Minutes later, with the twins down for the count and one-year-old Lorna snoozing happily in her crib, Erik had his husband just as he wanted him—sprawled on his back across their bed, that ridiculous costume of his on full display before him. 

Charles groaned against Erik’s lips as the metal bender began to tug the magenta uniform away. “Happy Halloween, Magneto,” he murmured.

And a very happy Halloween it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 40,000 words later, we're finished! Wowza. What a saga! I had a blast writing all of these and I can't thank my fellow challenge participants and all you wonderful readers enough! I'm shitty at replying to comments, but I read each and every one and they never failed to make me beam with gratitude. Thank you all so very much!
> 
> Please let me know if you have any constructive criticism as well, I love to hear what others honestly think (and I have a thick skin, you can't offend me like this). 
> 
> Much love to all of you, happy Inktober!


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